I keep rewriting and deleting and rewriting this post because I'm trying to capture the incredible satisfaction I feel after truly finishing writing a novel! I started about a year ago, and I ended up writing three drafts...by the end of the third, I really felt like I had taken it as far as it could go. Then I asked a couple of people who are part of my target audience to read it, and they actually read the entire thing and gave me comments. So now I'm working on putting in more changes, but it's taking me a while because I'm letting too much of the world get into my brain.
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.