I finished Gargoyle Dreams on Friday. On Saturday I tried to put it together and immediately ran into problems. I decided to put it aside, let it sit for awhile. Nevertheless, I have a feeling it can be a good book.
Night before last, I went to bed I feeling oddly satisfied. That little bit of euphoria lasted the day. This is a weird feeling for me. I'm usually vaguely anxious and dis-satisfied. But I'm feeling proud of myself right now.
As I Twittered/Facebooked yesterday. "I'm happier with my books than I thought I'd be. Not bad, man. Not bad." And I mentioned how grateful I was for the support.
This isn't my usual way of expressing myself.
Andy was in the store on Thursday and said, "You're funny. You're always pointing out your faults."
Well, I don't think of it that way, but yeah. I'm harder on myself than other people are, usually. I've discounted my writing because it seemed to me that it was risky to be too proud of it.
I set out to see if I could just finish another book. To get it published was a bonus, to have it read by people was a bigger bonus, and to have some of those people like the book was the best bonus of all. Then to write more books, and to feel like they are good solid stories. That is enormously gratifying.
Every time I finish a book, I somehow try to keep going, and then almost always realize I don't have to, that I can take a small break. Letting it all sink in.
So that's where I'm at right now. A small deserved break.
4 hours ago