The downside of an incomplete writer’s high
So I spent the weekend in full-bore marathon mode in order to get Trickster finished, edited, and out the door to my betas, and then Evernight. Normally when I finish a writing project I get what I can only call a writer’s high. It’s this wonderful sense of extreme well-being and contentment that lasts somewhere between 12 and 24 hours.
But I didn’t get it this time, and I think I shot myself in the foot when I technically reached the end of the story Saturday and typed THE END, even though I knew full well that I had to go back and add some context and two sex scenes. The bugger of it is, that simple action seems to have short-circuited the full monty, which is fucking annoying. One of the things I like best about finishing a project is that I get a writer’s high in the first place — it’s the immediate gratification that makes a numb ass, confusion about what day it is, and the grease in my hair worthwhile.
But now — I dunno. It’s kind of like having a really mediocre orgasm, the sort that gets shut down almost as soon as it starts because the kids are banging on the bedroom door or you just can’t hang onto whatever masturbatory fantasy you’re using. And to add insult to injury, I can’t settle — I have His Last Vow on iPlayer, tons of crafting projects and three book covers to design, and I’m having a hell of a time making myself do any of them. As I told Ramón earlier, I feel like something inside me is just flapping in the wind, frustratingly incomplete. Come to think of it, I’m also craving my special mint and dark chocolate cookies, as well.
Unfortunately, my next writer’s high won’t be until I finish Two to Tango, which is still a good 15K off. So it looks like I’m going to be in for five days or so of delayed literary orgasm until I get Rory and Dmitri to their own happy ending. Bugger.
Maybe I’ll make those cookies after all…