Ah, dear readers, today I am truly content. Because today — only moments ago, in fact, I finished the final draft of my novel.
Yes, I am aware that I have made this claim before. I am aware, too, that in the event of acquisition by an agent/publisher, more edits will be made to this piece of work. But those are edits to be made in another time, and more importantly, at least in part, by another person. As for me, I am finished.
I am sure that the novel is not yet perfect. I know for a fact that if I were to look at it again tomorrow, I would find a hundred new problems to fix. I could edit this novel for the rest of my life and never be completely satisfied. Because as I grow as a writer, and as a person, my goals for my work will also shift, my expectations grow, my red pen (actually, I use a hot pink pen for editing) scribble liberally. I would be like that director in the movie “Synecdoche, NY,” every day saying to myself, “NOW I know what to do! Now I can make my novel perfect!”
It will never be perfect. And while I’m trying to make it perfect, I’m losing precious time I could be using to write something new, something that excites me, something that obsesses me, something that I’m not sick to death of the sight of. So that’s what I intend to do.
Expect new stories soon, reader. Expect rants about how much I hate having writer’s block. Or about how many different choices I have for what to write next. Or about not knowing what I want to communicate with my new novel.
Yes, friends. The best part about being done with the old novel is getting to write a new one!