It's better than coming home after a long trip. It's better than satisfying a sudden need for sugar. It's better than changing into your pajamas. (Feel free to add your own 'better than' here.)
What is this amazing feeling, you ask? Finishing a first draft. Or, as Lili St. Crow would put it, finishing a zero draft. Which is appropriate for this manuscript, I think.
But editing aside, I've just typed those words. THE END. And I let out a gusty, satisfied sigh. After - how long ago did I start this? - three months, I've finally managed to complete this story. It's horrible, yes, and it's not complete in the actual sense of the word. But the words are down, the pages are there, clay waiting to be molded. This is one of the reasons I write. To experience that sense of accomplishment. We spend hours upon hours sprinting towards this finish line, sometimes sacrificing our social lives and our very sanity. It's so worth it when we reach the end. Our characters have gone through hell alongside us and have come out on the other side alive, squinting in the sunlight.
It may sound melodramatic. But for those of you that are still in the marathon, just wait. Wait until you print out the manuscript all your sweat and tears went into and can hold it in your hands. It's heady. Exciting. You'll be able to say, I did this. I wrote a book. Not that this was for anyone else or for bragging rights. It's just an amazing feat. There aren't many people in the world who can sit down and write a novel. It may seem like the world is full of writers, but compared to those who don't, it's a small percentage. We are a special group.
Anyway, point of this post. I have finished my fifth novel, and it's an amazing feeling. I do apologize for the blog absence this month. You now know where I have been! I think I'll start the celebration by... showering. And doing the laundry. And... my god, is the garbage can somewhere underneath that mountain?