So I’ve finally admitted to myself I was dumped . . .
My husband asked me the other day why I seemed so miserable recently. ‘You’ve finished the book, the sun’s (mostly) out and Sewing Bee is back on, what’s the matter?’
I had to finally admit to him and myself that mixed in with the sheer euphoria of finishing book 21, Give Him To Me, was another feeling: heartbreak.
I’m truly heartbroken that Kez and all the other characters don’t need me to create their story any more so they have, essentially, dumped me. It hurts in a weird way because on the one hand it’s like: ‘Yay, I finished another book’ and on the other hand, it’s also like: ‘Oh, I won’t be spending every waking moment with the characters in this story any more’.
True, I haven’t been properly dumped in many, many years, but those feelings are still familiar – can’t stop thinking about them; constantly replaying conversations; going to call them but realising you can’t; knowing that if Give Him To Me had Instagram, I’d be over there all the time, lurking, crying as I watched them get on with their lives without me.
I’ve had these ‘dumped by my book’ sorrows with every novel I’ve written, and, yet, with each new book it feels like I’ve never felt it quite this strong. I know that’s not true, but that’s how it seems.
What would 13-year-old Dorothy who was passing her stories around her convent school friends all those years ago make of ahem!-year-old Dorothy breaking her heart over characters who don’t exist but seem so very real to her?
To be fair, 13-year-old Dorothy would probably be proud and impressed that she’s kept her weirdness and her peculiar way of being in the world throughout her life. 🤣
So, how do I plan to soothe my heart? Well, there’s that old adage – the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, yes? 😉 Which means, helloooo Book Number 22, you’re looking very fine today. Very fine, indeed . . . 🤩
Tell me I’m not the only one who feels like this? Please? Have you felt a conflicting sense of loss when you’ve achieved or received something fantastic? I would love to hear your stories.
I had to finally admit to him and myself that mixed in with the sheer euphoria of finishing book 21, Give Him To Me, was another feeling: heartbreak.
I’m truly heartbroken that Kez and all the other characters don’t need me to create their story any more so they have, essentially, dumped me. It hurts in a weird way because on the one hand it’s like: ‘Yay, I finished another book’ and on the other hand, it’s also like: ‘Oh, I won’t be spending every waking moment with the characters in this story any more’.
True, I haven’t been properly dumped in many, many years, but those feelings are still familiar – can’t stop thinking about them; constantly replaying conversations; going to call them but realising you can’t; knowing that if Give Him To Me had Instagram, I’d be over there all the time, lurking, crying as I watched them get on with their lives without me.
I’ve had these ‘dumped by my book’ sorrows with every novel I’ve written, and, yet, with each new book it feels like I’ve never felt it quite this strong. I know that’s not true, but that’s how it seems.
What would 13-year-old Dorothy who was passing her stories around her convent school friends all those years ago make of ahem!-year-old Dorothy breaking her heart over characters who don’t exist but seem so very real to her?
To be fair, 13-year-old Dorothy would probably be proud and impressed that she’s kept her weirdness and her peculiar way of being in the world throughout her life. 🤣
So, how do I plan to soothe my heart? Well, there’s that old adage – the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, yes? 😉 Which means, helloooo Book Number 22, you’re looking very fine today. Very fine, indeed . . . 🤩
Tell me I’m not the only one who feels like this? Please? Have you felt a conflicting sense of loss when you’ve achieved or received something fantastic? I would love to hear your stories.
Published on May 25, 2024 13:21
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