The End

I've finished the first draft of my novella The Bureau of Them (previously titled: 'Wicked, Full of Promises' thanks to misheard song lyrics) and typed those magical words 'The End'. Only, it's not really is it? I mean, I'm a wee liar claiming to be done and all that. For those willing to happy dance with me with regards to this false end, I warn you, like the apocalypse, it comes in many shapes and forms.

A warning to family and non-writing friends re 'The End'.

We are currently here... First draft finished - 21,876 words
My reaction: Happy Dancing, Dreaming of Stardom
Your (possible) reaction: Excellent. Woot! Can I dance too?

In a few weeks we will be here... Second draft finished - 23,500 words
My reaction: Happy Dancing, Dreaming of Stardom
Your (possible) reaction: Fabulous. Woot! Then mid dance (arms flung up in the air, shaking that bum)... Wait, didn't she already tell us this? Then, back to the dance and... I must be mistaken.

Several weeks later... Third draft finished - 24,428 words
My reaction: Happy Dancing, Dreaming of Stardom
Your (possible) reaction: Now wait... I know you already said you'd finished this book... My hips are still aching from the last bout of wooting and squeeing.

Several more weeks later... The edits are finished - 22,000 words
My reaction: Happy Dancing, Freaking out that I may have to write a synopsis. Maybe I should tweak a few more words/sentences/chapters.
Your reaction: Shut up already.

I apologise in advance.