by Sean Chercover
So I recently finished a manuscript. A huge relief. Understatement of the year, right?
But it's funny how different writers react differently to finishing a book. I call writer friends, tell them I finished, and some say:
"You must be so elated . . . there's no better feeling."
While others say:
"Oh, I know how hard that is . . . try not to get too depressed."
I'm more inclined toward the second type. I usually feel brief elation after typing THE END, but then I get a little blue.
Actually, no. More discombobulated than blue (and what a great word, discombobulated).
Confused. Untethered. Caught between two worlds.
In the coming days, my wife and child and parents and friends will emerge from the fog, will once again become more real to me than the imaginary people who've been camping inside my head for the last year, making themselves at home, redecorating the inside of my skull, spilling beer on the couch and dropping cigarette butts on the linoleum.
The real people in my life are much better behaved. I'm looking forward to getting to know them again . . .
A madness shared by many.
Just got an email from my friend Tibor.
Tibor said, "sleep is your enemy, hallucinations are your angels."
He's right, of course. Here's what it's like inside my head at the end of a book . . .
It's like this:
This may be my favorite movie ever . . .
Now, if you want a more rational blog post, scoot on over to Murderati, where Libby is the guest blogger.
Because I really can't help you here. You see, I just finished a book. And the inside of my head is, well . . .
ps: Thanks to Brian Lindenmuth for bringing this awesome movie to my attention.