After dedicating many a night to getting those first 65K down on the page, the final sentence (the point when the glorious angels sing a Hallelujah chorus in your ears) seems like a sigh of relief. Immediately, we feel a rapid succession of thoughts (hopes and dreams) fly through our heads. . .
I'm going to query this novel. Agents will love it. I'll get a call. Oh, boy, what should I say? Gonna' play it cool. Gonna get an offer of rep. Agent-spectacular-the-most-awesome-person-in-the-world will pitch my novel. Yay, editors will like me. Go me! Yay, editors like me--but do they really? All my hard work wasn't for nothing. The manuscript will go into production. Maybe someday I'll see it on the shelves. OMG, time for author readings already? Want me to sign your book? "OH, please, please, please! Gosh, I'll die if you don't," you dream of a fan saying. The book will be a hit. Smashing success. Wow. NYT bestseller? Wow. Book two?
Ha ha. WRONG. Now I'm going to go barf from all the above sarcasm.
No matter how realistic of a person you are, it's nearly impossible to fight off that whirlwind of thoughts. I think, especially after you've spent countless hours listening to those unruly/snarky/humble/curious/badass/fearful/beautiful/grotesque/amoral/virtuous characters of yours, that you have a right to celebrate. But only a little. Don't go throwing around an unfinished query letter for an unedited novel. Eat a chocolate croissant, or down a box of donut holes, instead.
I think it's healthy to let our minds go places as writers; it's healthy to let them wander toward the dreams we one day wish to fulfill. I honestly think that's what keeps us going. Sometimes, though, we just need to pull back the reins a bit (as I'm struggling to do) and take our time. In the end, I think our novels will thank us and our chances of landing Mr./Ms. Agent-spectacular-the-most-awesome-person-in-the-world will significantly improve.
