I don't want to talk about the drama going on where I live (I've been venting with a few trustworthy people), but it's been hard to get into fiction land. But that shouldn't be an excuse because I was able to push through whatever was going on to finish the book, and amazingly, I was satisfied with just that--finishing the book.
When I started this blog, I thought that the only way to be satisfied was to get published. Why would I enjoy simply writing something that probably wouldn't see the light of day? But I hadn't been so committed before. I wrote stuff and finished drafts, and did Nanowrimo a bunch of times, but I never decided to really finish it to the best of my ability.
Then last year, after fake blogging for a while and doing a bunch of stuff that involved getting tasks done and not much creativity, I decided to really write a book and revise it. I wanted to give up or got super-lazy along the way, but I overcame my self-defeating thoughts and did the first draft, then the second, and then the third. I was sidelined by various responsibilities and worries, but what got me through was the isolation of work, and the need to connect with the world I was building that was more exciting than what I was experiencing. I ended up writing and rewriting at home, in cafes, and even at work during breaks. I could see the end, and I was going towards the finish line, and I couldn't believe it. When I wrote the final words (or rewrote, depending on what was needed), I felt awesome! I felt like I had just run a huge marathon and was incredibly excited and satisfied. I did it! And that was a reward in and of itself...it was??
It was the first time during my years-long pursuit that I stopped being a wannabe and dreamer, and actually got down to business. Before, I wanted to gloss over the process and get it done and miraculously get an agent and some kind of creative future. But this time I really just worked and thought about the story progression and the characters and if it flowed. And whenever I wrote, it was very satisfying and I felt free, separated from the mediocre world I was living in.
Now I have to finish making the changes that the reviewers suggested, and I have to find an agent. But even if I don't get one (and I hope I do, and want my efforts to lead to something greater), just finishing the book is enough. And I totally mean it, which is seriously different from the kind of attitude I've had for years. I thought I wasn't "worth" anything, or better said, what I created wasn't worth anything unless there was a public audience. But the creation is worth something, and getting it done is worth a ton. The feeling of accomplishment is amazing and it is true, that if you set goals and achieve them, it's very rewarding.
When I first finished, as I said, I was elated, but then I felt deflated. All that work was done. Now what? While I was waiting for the beta readers to respond, I didn't write any fiction because I thought I was "finished." But I kept feeling more irritated and restless, and only had the real world to deal with. So I wrote more fiction, and I'm already thinking about what I want to do for the next book (I already wrote drafts of some books but need to commit to actually finishing them). I have a few solid ideas that are in the same kind of genre and I think I can finish them, too.
So now I have to do the tedious work of integrating the beta readers' ideas and then proceed to the real world, where I'll most likely experience rejection and/or silence. But whatever happens, I know that I finished what I started, which has value in and of itself.