I’ve been working on my current novel, The Nameless Queen, since the beginning of NaNoWriMo. It’s been about three and a half months. That’s 105 days! I am within mere chapters of the ending, and I’m caught between mad-dashes of productivity and dawdling contemplation. Let me just take a second to AHHHHHHHHGHHHHHHH!
Ahem. That’s better.
I swing back and forth between “All of these things are happening and it’s all awesome and exciting!” and “Have I made the right decisions? Will it all come together?”
Finishing a first draft is like skydiving: torturous, exciting, and with the absolute terror of SPLAT.
The only saving grace is that the awful, beautiful beast of revision can give you the chance to undo the terrible pancaking result of skydiving and tweak the process until you survive.
I have a friend, let’s call him T-alpha. (Actually, that is one of his nicknames. A coincidence of two friends with the same name who argue until appropriate monikers are acquired.)
Anyway, T-alpha has read all of my finished drafts to date, and he’s been listening to me complain, debate, and generally rant about this one since I started it. So he wants to read it. And since, for the past week, I’ve been obsessing with how close I am to finishing it, I somehow got trapped into promising that by next Wednesday, I would provide him with the finished first draft for a healthy dose of beta reading.
I think it bears repeating that AHHHHHHHHGHHHHHHH!
Now I’m on the clock, counting down, drawing ever near to the deadline finish line end of the line toeing the line!!!
Deadlines are healthy, and I think I can finish it by then (especially with the beautiful weekend ahead).
All of the anxiety and excitement are happening at the same time.