I just finished my novel. Yay!
You'd think, right? But anybody who's ever written a novel in hopes of publication knows that I'm only at the halfway point. Kind of like laying an egg. Somebody still has to get it from nest to market, so you can buy it and get it on your breakfast plate. Yes, I just compared my writing to something I shoot out my ass.
The writing of a novel is only the first part of the process—and I'm not sure it's even the hardest part, given the rigmarole yet to come my way, including agent hunting, contracts, publication, and marketing. Wait, what am I saying, of course writing is the hardest part! I birthed a romantic comedy, for god's sake, and the rewriting labor alone took three months with no numbing agents or mind-altering substances—though I do feel hung over and, frankly, I think I tore.
The only cure is more hair of the dog, so while I'd like to celebrate my big finish, I have bigger eggs to fry. (Hey, poaching metaphors is my specialty.) I'll keep you posted on things. Meantime, let's get reacquainted. Leave me a comment and I'll pop by for a visit.