Last night I finished the first draft of my second novel. Typing the word "End" has only felt that good once before. Writing a novel can be arduous, even when you enjoy doing it. The best comparison I can give to my experience with it would be like playing a video game that you're really in to.
Sometimes, the game gets really difficult. When you're stuck it makes you want to throw the controller against the nearest hard surface and place a voodoo blood curse on the sadistic game developers.
Other times, you really kick some ass. You charge in, dual wielding with enchanted weapons, and just lay waste to everything in your way. All the pieces fall in place, and it feels like you couldn't have planned it better if you tried. These moments may not come easily, but that's okay, because they shouldn't be easy. Accomplishing a difficult task is the whole point.
Then, late at night, as you near the end of some journey, you stay awake way too late just to see the game beaten. Every few minutes your eyes go back to the nearest clock, and an empty promise is made to stop at the next save point. Next thing you know, it's four am. You know you'll be a wreck in the morning, but you still grin like a moron because you did it.
You're actually done.
For those of us masochists who choose to write because we love it, despite the overwhelming demands of work, life, and family, it's one of the sweetest moments there is.
I'm going to let this draft sit for a bit, then start editing. Then, I'll work my ass off to get this one in print. We'll see how it goes.
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