The Dreaded Book Hangover; or, Why I Hate My Latest Draft

I don’t hate my latest draft.
I, in fact, love it. (Gosh, considering the last post I put here, there seems to be a lot of love going around in my little writing world. Maybe I should fix that? *sly side eye sends my characters diving for safety)
But I digress . . .

I finished the draft of book 3. Sorry hang on:


(Note, the above was my silly, obnoxious way of being over-excited and ‘yell-y’ online. The text blinks/ought to blink. An HTML no-no. Yep. Again, my apologies.)

But I’m excited. And . . .

. . . strangely heartbroken.

I finished this draft 12 days ago and am only mentioning it here now because I couldn’t figure out how I really felt about it. On my local library’s radio program I believe I called it ‘a death’. (Wow. That’s pretty bleak, M. K.!) But, really, this is It for these characters, my first loves in my wacky writing adventure, imaginary friends who I dreamed up, gave names and faces and personalities to, gave breath and life to, spent 15 years with . . . and now I put in my equivalent of “The End” and have only another series of “endings” before me. Sure, the book will release. I’ll spend endless energy editing it, gushing over cover art, getting the audio book up, doing a launch party, put all three books together on a shelf and blush happily over the set . . . and every single one of those actions will be a little ‘goodbye’ to all this love I’ve grown to rely upon in my waking and working hours.

Have I written my next thing? Sure. Do I love this new cast, this new adventure? Absolutely! I can’t wait for you to meet them. But . . . to get to that, I have to say goodbye to Dvigrad, to my wonky argumentative wizards, to the folks who are tied to this particular project whom I may not have a chance to work with in the future. It’s . . . a mixed bag of various sads.

And that’s not even considering the natural letdown of putting down the pen after all that work.

So that’s why I hate my draft. Why I don’t want to look at it and have avoided opening it for giving it the necessary once-over and tweaking before I send it onward. I fear it, dread it, mourn it. Even now. Already.

Anyhow, that’s a part of the writing process I never ever considered when I started on this journey. (Sorry for the bleak post. Had to just be honest on this one, folks. Maybe, in the vacuum that follows this, I’ll just write some ridiculous fan-fic . . . for just myself, hahaha. I do have a never-used Wattpad account just waiting on me.)


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