There’s a feeling I get when I’ve finished writing a book. The last words are typed with gusto that falls just short of damaging the keyboard. Immediately after that last period is placed, I have to get up from my seat and pace until the rush simmers down. Once my heart slows, there’s about 24 hours when no matter what I’m doing, the thought that I finished a book sneaks into my mind over and over. It’s like I can’t believe it, and feel so relieved that it’s done. I had forgotten about that feeling until I finished my fifth book last week. The feeling is unobtainable from anything else. It’s the overall sense of accomplishment, but also specifically that an idea was forged into reality.
Something that started as a tiny little thought, rolled around and captured additional fodder that could be used to support the thought, then grew a little. Then grew a little more. Then, became almost painful because it was too big to NOT be on paper. It begged to be set free.
What’s interesting is that once it’s on paper, if it’s successful or not to others is secondary to the fact that a story has been created out of thin air, flowing from my head to my fingers to a Word document. Unfortunately, the feeling is addictive. From the first time I felt it, I wanted to replicate the experience.
Three more are circling in the rafters. All in various degrees of readiness. My mind will let me know when they’re ready to be set free.
Thoughts that are alien to any of my other projects can be found here.