Every book feels impossible. Every single time, when I start a book and have that huge weight and balance of words pending, I think, how the CRAP do I do this? And every single time, when I am in the middle, I think, I am never going to finish. This will be the story I can't do. I'm done. How on earth did I ever manage to finish those other books? I literally can't remember. Maybe I didn't. Because I'm sure as heck not going to be able to finish this one.
And then, somehow, word by word, impossibly, the book gets written.
Every ending I hit (and this is my seventh) feels like something of a miracle.
But I don't do it alone. I owe overcoming that middle-of-the-book malaise to Florence + The Machine and her wonderful, otherworldly, fantastical songs. I owe the motivation to put in chapter after chapter on nights when I was too tired to do it on my own to Shannon Messenger and Scott Tracey for always being up to word war with me and force me to focus everything I could into thirty minutes. I owe the motivation from non-stop encouragement and cheerleadering and occasional berating without which I could not first-draft to Natalie Whipple. I owe the comfort of infinite QMG WHY ARE OUR JOBS SO HARD AND WHY DO I SUCK AT LIFE SO MUCH commiserating emails that made everything either funnier or less painful to Stephanie Perkins. I owe the serious picking-up-of-slack to my wonderful and infinitely patient husband. And I owe my kids several dozen bedtime stories to make up for all the nights I told them I was going to the library but instead snuck back into my office and wrote at home. Hopefully this book can finance their future therapy sessions when they discover how much I lied to them.
Ahem. I've never written the final book in a series before. It is infuriating and devastating and liberating and a lot of other -ings all at the same time. As much as I was desperate to just FINISH THE DANG BOOK, I cried when I wrote the last sentence. I love this book. I love this series. I love Evie and her pink Taser and her way of barreling through life trying to figure out just what on earth she's supposed to do with all of the madness around her.
But I digress. I'm not going to talk about the book since it'll be eighteen months before you can even read this one. Suffice it to say, I'm more than a little relieved that I have a few edits ahead of me and can draw out my time with Evie even longer. I like her. A lot.
And now, to sum up:
Chapters: I stopped counting
Appearances of the word "bleep": 51
Number of Yetis, Unicorns, Selkies, and Dragons: 12ish.
Number of tasings: 2
Amount of trouble Evie finds herself in: Infinite
Number of times it felt impossible to write this book: I stopped counting
Number of times I get to write THE END at the end of my first trilogy: 1
This book brought to you by Florence + The Machine, Paramore, and Dr Pepper, none of whom are sponsoring me, but all of whom are welcome to.
And now you are probably wondering, just what does someone do to celebrate completing her very first trilogy?
I've got big plans.
Today, when my daughter is in school and my son is at preschool?
I am going to nap.
And it is going to be epic.
After that, the weekend off, and then diving into as many edits as I can cram in before I turn my baby in to Editor Erica on April 1st. And then? I start playing with a new friend named Isadora and pretending like maybe this time it won't feel impossible.