And Then There Were Three

Writing a book is a truly wonderful experience. Finishing it, however, is decidedly bittersweet.

The final stages (editing, proofreading, and publishing) are a headlong rush filled with excitement and, at times, desperation, as the deadline you set approaches … and then whooshes past. Last-minute issues abound. First, there will be “final” suggestions from your editor. These, of course, lead to further suggestions in response to the suggestions. Then there is the need to make corrections. Most of these will simply deal with typos, spelling, and grammar errors, but the odd continuity mistake (a black scarf mysteriously turning into a red one, for example) is also possible. Finally, there is the formatting. This is a wonder in itself, templates that have previously worked perfectly suddenly requiring manual adjustments before they are ready to publish (Amazon, please note!). Once all of this has been done, you hit the publish button. Your book goes on its merry way, and you are left with a huge gaping hole in your life where, just moments before, there was something you were entirely consumed by.

In my case, and I suspect many other authors are the same, I have my next book lined up and ready to go. This means that the work doesn’t really stop. I am already thinking about my next book’s opening chapters: how they might be structured, how my characters will deal with their given situation, how I can best convey the story, setting, and atmosphere, whilst maintaining a constant sense of suspense. But there is something of my just-published novel, In Its Wake, that still lingers. This is hardly a surprise as I still need to promote the novel. As I type, I am considering how to create further adverts to bring the book to readers’ attention as well as what strategies I might employ. But truth be told, there is more to it than that.

I’ve read that, for most authors, books are like children. You birth them, raise them, and then let them go. As they make their own way in the world, you support them as best you can, without prejudice and without favouritism. This certainly applies to me. I cannot pick a favourite; I hope they all do well. But there is something about watching a book go out into the world to face its fate that leaves this author suddenly feeling empty and more than a little sad. Yes, I have my next book lined up. Yes, I knew that this day would come. And yes, the work of an author never really stops; there remains a constant need to support and promote a finished book. But these things don’t lessen the feelings of loss as I leave behind a story, a place, and characters that will always be very real to me.

As Dickens once said, and as adapted by the Muppets, “Life is made up of meetings and partings. That is the way of it.”