There is always a feeling of relief when you finally finish the book, after all the editing (the latest book had been revised and edited 16 times – I know, I should stop fiddling), and accepting I’ve have done all I can.
It’s like watching another child leave the nest. There’s that hollow feeling inside.
Of course, the answer to getting over that feeling is to get on with the next book.
This time I finished two books together, so it has been more exhausting, especially with the two sets of characters and story lines. I realize I should work on one, get that done, and then work on the other. Sorry, I can’t do that.
Actually, I was working on the next story at the same time.
My editor, after being presented with, and finally reading through the so-called final draft, calls me in to discuss the works, simply closes her eyes and shakes her head, then tells me one character has crossed over to the other novel.
Perhaps working on two novels at the same time is not a good idea.
But all’s well that ends well, both “What Sets Us Apart”, the first in what I call my Russian trilogy, is published, and “One Last Look” the first of what may become a series, also published and are now available from Amazon.
What to do next?
Catch up on social media, which includes Twitter, where I do a little advertising, and Facebook, which I still don’t understand how it is going to work for me.
So, I’m currently working on “First Dig Two Graves”, the ‘Zoe the Assassin – Book 2’, which is all but written, and like the crazy author I am, it’s in the seventh or eighth re-edit, and another short romance novel called “The Things We Do For Love”.
But I can’t help myself, and I’m also working on parts of “Strangers We’ve Become”, the second of the Russian Trilogy. It, too, has all but been written, and only needs a few modifications.
And yes, that is a very loose statement, ‘only a few modifications’. That can be anything from a new chapter at the start or a whole rewrite.
Ah, the hectic life of a writer.
In between, there was a granddaughters 8th birthday, and an anniversary, so many now I’ve lost count. Then I finally reached an age I never thought I’d get to, 65.
Now it seems there really is so little time, so much to do.