So there it is. Almost three years of writing (more realistically: one year of writing and two years of rewriting) behind me. And it’s time to let go. As I hit ‘send’ and the file reaches my publisher, I feel relieved for a split-second. Yet also sad.
That’s it, it’s out of my hands. It’s up to the Gods and the readers and whoever to decide whether they are going to care for the characters as much as I do. Maybe even hate them at times as much as I do. But most importantly: understand them, even when they hate them.
I suppose these past three years have been exactly that: an exercise in trying to understand and motivate certain things people do. And I have come to learn that as a writer, you need to go back to those pages over and over again until you understand every single word you’ve written about a character. Perhaps not only writers should do that. And yet, there will always be something you don’t understand, let alone can fix. As a writer you can then choose to delete. Or leave it there. It’s only human.
And now what?
I know: I’ll go home, smile, and make up for lost time (years!) with my son and significant other. I want to and I really should. If I could. But I can’t. Probably the only truth part about writing: you can’t help yourself.