Chapter Last
Today I'll be finishing the first draft of my latest novel. It's been--gulp!--three years and a month since my last first draft (not counting those two screenplays).I already feel a little post-manuscript depression, which reminds me of the emotional letdown after the closing of a play. The difference is, I have no one to share it with, no one with whom to have a beer and reminisce about the time the prop guy accidentally turned on a bandsaw backstage during the leading lady's death scene. I suppose I could have a nice glass of whiskey and remind myself, "Hey, remember that time you misspelled 'reticence'? Hah." But it's not the same.
I've been watching the seemingly endless Appendices to the Lord of the Rings movies lately. What an amazing team effort. Clearly it was stressful, but it seemed fun at times, and the four-year slog just added to the enormity of the collective accomplishment.
In comparison, novel writing feels lonely. I love what I do because I crave creative independence. But sometimes I long for collaboration again, the way it was in theatre. An obsession is much more fun when it's shared.
