It’s finished! I have just this minute sent off the final draft of my novel ‘Banished’ and my head hurts, my hand hurts and my arse is sore but I am desperate to start on the next one! Instead I shall go to bed and rearm myself with my favourite pen (Stabilo Boss finetips fyi) tomorrow.
The euphoria I feel when I finish penning my novels is vast. Completing and submitting the final draft just feels like coming home after a hard run in wind and rain. I’m happy but not ecstatic. Editing is the hardest part of writing and, in terms of job satisfaction, the least rewarding. Don’t get me wrong, there is a certain amount of pleasure to be gleaned after hours of going over and over the same sentences until you come up with a manner of conveying the meaning in the perfect way (unlike this sentence). But the final full stop, clicking the save button for the last time, renaming the document without dates and version numbers is nowhere near as satisfying as the full stop you make with the pen after the first write. That copy, that first one, is the unadulterated innocent outpourings of your soul and it is like crying the sweetest tears after having given birth, revelling in the pain and agony, the feel of stretching muscles and aching bones, pulling the blanket around the filthy bundle that erupted from your womb. Bliss.