I don’t think I quite realised the effect completing a book would have on me. I had greatly underestimated the sense of loss I would feel, once there was nothing left to work on. I have two other books awaiting my attention for editing. However, they cannot compare to the first book. It is finished, written, edited, soon to be sent to agents.
I had to admit to someone, somewhere, that I dearly miss it! It is not the first book I have ever written, as there are several previous works gathering dust that will nevermore see the light of day. They are not though, of the ilk of my latest works. They are not so special.
I guess it is safe for me to say I am writing an historical trilogy with elements of fantasy woven into its core. These are the books I knew I was always destined to write. They fit me, like that gorgeously worn sweater we all have at the bottom of our wardrobe; it knows our shape and comforts us when we need it. I love all three stories; one half-written and one ready for editing, but I still miss that first book where the tale begins. It will probably never change. No matter how many yarns I weave, that initial idea, those first few words on an empty page will forever be with me.