I finished my novel this morning. Without a lot of fanfare, I might add. In only took me two years to figure out exactly the right note to end on, exactly which words my characters would say. When I finally got it all down, I expected angels and trumpets, or at the very least, a piece of ticker tape or two. Sam was screaming at me to come rescue him from his crib, but other than that, there was nothing.
Of course, my book is about as finished as a pre-op contestant on The Swan. It still needs a lot of work: braces, boob job, tummy tuck, hair extensions, a celebrity make up artist to the stars, a designer outfit, some psychological counseling. But at the very least it walks and talks and knows its own name. It may need a makeover, but by God, there's something there to work with.
Last night, while I lay awake trying to walk myself through the final scene, two things came to me. One was a line. The phone rang. Will and I both groaned. Even on our anniversary, we couldn't get a minute's peace. It was nothing special, but once I got up out of bed and wrote it down, I knew that my ending was coming. Sometimes I get a gut feeling about these things. I am definetely an intuitive writer. Things just come to me, so I write them down. Enough things come to me and I have a book. The other thing that came to me was a sequel, about Jillian and Billy, and a title. How Pink and Blue Saved My Marriage Too. As soon as I wrote it down, I knew exactly what it was going to be about. I can't wait to write it.
But first things first. I have editing to do. Updates will follow.