I am consumed by a compelling energy when I near “The End” of my manuscript. It is an urgency, almost an addiction to writing. I suspect runners feel it when they see the finish line—that rush of adrenaline spurring you on. I get all jumpy like my A.D.D. students. Who am I kidding? I am A.D.D.
The energy starts like a rumble in the belly and seeps out through my body to my toes and fingertips. I can’t sit still. I can’t concentrate. It’s almost like being in love. (Apologies to Lerner and Loewe). And I sing that song. And I dance. Poor Rich.
My mind fills with answers to questions I’ve been seeking since I wrote the first scene. Why did this happen? Who did that? Why did that character say/do that? Oh! Now I get it! Thank you, Boris. I knew you’d come through for this pantser.
Once I’ve typed the last sentence or tweaked the last scene, my body crumples into exhaustion. At the end of a race, runners keep walking as they cool down. Writers walk around second-guessing themselves.
But I feel lighter. Almost giddy. Okay, giddy. Now it’s time to send my first draft out to my beta readers. This is when I hand off the baton and trust my team. Which came first the excitement or the fear? I’m excited that others will be reading my work; I am terrified that others will be reading my work.