I finished the first draft of novel number two on the weekend past. Ten months ahead of schedule. I did a little dance in my study to celebrate the milestone and cracked open a bottle of sparkling shiraz to mark the moment. Alone yet apt in the scheme of things. Writing can be a very solitary pursuit.
The precious document is now in the hands of a friend who represents my target demographic for the book and he has promised to read it and provide feedback so that I can edit the draft ahead of formally submitting it to my editor.
This is the scariest part of the process I think. That moment when you feel you have written something special but can never really be sure if the words are any good until they are either validated or discounted by another reader. An actual reader. Not an editor, for an editor's role is about improving the product and the constructive feedback provided by an editor is somehow far easier to digest.
I will be turning my mind to my other project while I wait - a collection of dream inspired short stories - for the discipline I seem to have acquired writing every weekend cannot be wasted. I would probably go stir crazy with boredom if I was not writing!
Back to it...