Yesterday, I printed out the 476 pages that make up my first draft, three-hole punched them and stuck them in a binder. Seeing it that way made it real for me — I completed the first draft of a novel. It’s a euphoric feeling — I’m light-years ahead of where I’ve ever been, where I ever thought I’d be.
Soon I start the revision process (which I will discuss in my next post). Until then, I’m taking a few days off.
In the past, when I’ve taken a few days off, it’s been fine. Even earlier this month, I knew I was going to take a couple of days off. No problem. Now that the draft is actually finished and I decide to take a few days off, I feel guilty that I’m not writing. I know I shouldn’t — I’m following the plan I had set out for myself when I figured out how I would do the revisions. Still, there’s a certain guilty feeling that goes with taking a couple of days off. That bodes well for the future — I expect the next novel will take less time to complete.