Five years. FIVE YEARS.
I know that there are plenty of writers out there who work their fingers to the bone for decades to produce a work that they are proud of, but it usually only takes me a year or so to get a book written that I'm happy with. Not this time.
No, my most loved and hated work to date, the book that I can feel in my bones is a "game changer" for my career, the project that nearly gave me an ulcer when I got stuck three quarters of the way through--this book took nearly five years.
Today marks the end of my final revisions. Content edit is done. Line edit is done. The story has been formatted for print and now I'm combing through and checking every little dot and line for mistakes that my nearly-dead brain may have missed earlier.
I thought I'd be relieved, but the feeling is strangely bittersweet. Adding to the surreal mix of emotions is the coincidence that I dreamed last night about hanging out with a famous writer who I look up to greatly, but who died many years ago. Is my subconscious trying to encourage me or scare me to death? I'm still not sure.
The only thing I know for sure right now is that I'm living through the end of a creative cycle and it hurts. When it's done, and in a few weeks I have a book in my hand, I hope that it will all be worth it.
Today, an old project ends. Tomorrow, a new project starts.