The day after finishing a novel is a torturous affair.
(Having written 29 novels across 2 pennames, I’m very familiar with this process – for me. It’s different for everyone.)
The elation has passed, leaving only the exhaustion. You’ve given every last measure to that work, and consequently, it won’t let you go. You keep replaying scenes in your head, but you can’t touch them because they’re off to editors or critique partners. Any other work is tedium beyond enduring (especially true when the work that needs catching up on is marketing or paying bills or the less glamorous and soul-fulfilling side of the business).
I used to short-circuit the process by diving right into another novel. Now I know that my mind/body/soul needs to decompress before moving onto and falling in love with another work.
Authors are serial lovers; ones like me are speed-daters because we write tumultuous and fast. I’ll fall in love with another one on Monday.
What I really need is a nap. I said this to my wise 13yo and he says, “If you need a nap, you should take a nap.” Is it really that simple? I might have to try it and find out.
Maybe I’ll dream of edits I won’t make