Well, I did it. Tonight I put the last period on the last sentence in my second book. It's done.
I thought I wasn't going to get it done tonight. Part of me wanted to delay it, drag it out, that weird part of me that never seems to want to write. The part that likes to distract me with Important Things, like laundry and chocolate pudding and picking fuzz out of the carpet. Tonight's distraction of choice was World of Warcraft, which I just started playing. I'm literally an hour's worth of work away from this major achievement: finishing a novel, and all I could think about was how I could get my Cooking skill up to 50.
But I did it. Tore myself away, and wrote the last scene. And I swear to you, the last few sentences it was like writing through water. I was practically going at glacial speed by the time I wrote "The End". Now it's 11:30pm, and I've started this blog basically because I don't want to go to sleep yet, like if I let myself relax, I'll melt into an incoherent puddle and never recover.
I'm glad it's done, and I really think it will be a good book. But right now, I feel a little sick.
Is this normal?