Finishing

Today I'll be finishing another novel. Tomorrow I won't have to get up at 4:30 am; I'll be able to sleep in until 5:30 am. After I talk with my agent later this morning, I'll know if I can or can't take off the weekend. Probably can't; this idea is burning a hole through my skull and I'm anxious to get it down on paper. I also have another novel in progress that is due in five weeks and a new writer-for-hire gig on the horizon.

Problem is, I don't want to finish this novel. I want to rewrite and edit a little more. I'd like to change the POV of the scene in chapter fourteen. I'd like to fine-tune this one character who is almost, but not quite, perfect. This is not the usual mindset for me as I'm approaching the finish line, either. I am always ready to move on to the next thing.

I think I've gone and fallen in love with this damn book.

I do not have lengthy relationships with my work anymore. Synopses are strictly one-night stands. Series proposal packages might rate a weekend fling. It's true that I do become very intensely involved with my novels, but each only has me for six to eight weeks, and it always has to share me with at least two other novels. When I finish, it goes, and I am done with it.

I think the novel knows it's over, too. Oh, we'll get back together for the copy-edit and the galley proof, but it must know all I'm going to do then is nag and bitch at it. When it's in print, I'll stick it up like a trophy on the brag shelf and forget about it. Lately they've all been getting very sneaky and clinging to me on these finish line days, whispering I can be a few days late, no one will mind. C'mon, one last weekend together. Remember what a great time we had together in chapter ten?

I can't tell you why I love this book so much, and I probably shouldn't admit I have feelings for it all. That's like plunging a bleeding arm into a blind shark tank. They can't swim their way out of a paper bag, but they're always sniffing around for something to chew on. Even talking about it vaguely is something of a risk. Oh? She doesn't have ice for blood? What fun. Let's rip it to pieces.

Even now, I'm stalling. I'm writing this while I could be finishing the last type-in of the last chapter.

So, novel, it's time to wrap up this relationship. No, you can't stay the weekend. Yes, I remember the great time we had in chapter ten. I am glad we had this month and a half together. You're all special to me, but you and I went above and beyond that. I know you'll go out there and make me proud. Yes, I will miss you.

All right, I'll think about a sequel.