I finished my novel! Big cheer! I'm on vacation!
Day One - no looming deadlines, no contract obligations. Total Freedom! I can do whatever I want, starting with the long-neglected laundry and vacuuming. Ha! I knew that carpet was beige!
Day Two - God, what do people do all day? My head feels empty - no plots playing out in the background, no characters getting themselves into sticky situations. How can I enjoy a novel when all I see is some other author beating me to a juicy plot line? Unemployment sucks.
That, people, is how you know you're in the right line of work. That, and when your husband says he's looking forward to retirement, and panic seizes your gut, and you blurt out, "But I don't want to quit working!"
Did those words just come out of my mouth? Yes. I love my job. Never saw that one coming.
But Starr, you say. I thought writing made you frustrated, anxious, and constantly distracted!
I said I was happy, I didn't say I was sane.