What to do When You've Finished a Novel
Yes, it's true. I finished writing my longtime work-in-process, a novel I've called A GIRL NAMED FISH. The question is, what do I do now? More to the point what should be done when the novel is finished?
1) Avoid calling my agent--if I call her, she will say, Send me the ms! Pronto! But what if I only think I'm done and it turns out that I'm not really, really, really done?
2) Clean the house. Ah, dust bunnies. Mine have organized themselves into a rudimentary republic and now it appears that vacuuming may be a breech of the Geneva Convention.
3) Call my agent, then hang up before she answers (see #1).
4) Eat food that requires cutlery. After more than a year of eating while typing, it will be wonderful to sit down at a table and pick up a fork. Or, if I just want to go for it, a spoon.
5) Re-familiarize myself with the stove. If I want to eat fancy cutlery-required food, I'd better figure out how to cook it. Good thing I have a great cook book (click the link on the left hand side to download a free copy of Novel Matters Cookbook, Novel Tips on Rice: What to cook when you'd rather be writing and vice versa).
6) Call my agent, then disguise my voice and pretend I've dialed the wrong number and hang up quickly (see #1).
7) Go outside. I've seen it through my window, of course, but now it's time to take the step and actually leave the house. I may cling to the door way like an agoraphobic for an hour or so, but I'll get the hang of it. Eventually.
8) Call my agent. Really. For true this time. Honest. I will. Tomorrow.
I bid you good writing.
1) Avoid calling my agent--if I call her, she will say, Send me the ms! Pronto! But what if I only think I'm done and it turns out that I'm not really, really, really done?
2) Clean the house. Ah, dust bunnies. Mine have organized themselves into a rudimentary republic and now it appears that vacuuming may be a breech of the Geneva Convention.
3) Call my agent, then hang up before she answers (see #1).
4) Eat food that requires cutlery. After more than a year of eating while typing, it will be wonderful to sit down at a table and pick up a fork. Or, if I just want to go for it, a spoon.
5) Re-familiarize myself with the stove. If I want to eat fancy cutlery-required food, I'd better figure out how to cook it. Good thing I have a great cook book (click the link on the left hand side to download a free copy of Novel Matters Cookbook, Novel Tips on Rice: What to cook when you'd rather be writing and vice versa).
6) Call my agent, then disguise my voice and pretend I've dialed the wrong number and hang up quickly (see #1).
7) Go outside. I've seen it through my window, of course, but now it's time to take the step and actually leave the house. I may cling to the door way like an agoraphobic for an hour or so, but I'll get the hang of it. Eventually.
8) Call my agent. Really. For true this time. Honest. I will. Tomorrow.
I bid you good writing.
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