I finished XIII yesterday, and here begins the long process of distancing myself from it long enough to get some objectivity. Now that I finished it, I’m not proud or glad or relieved or sad or anything. I feel blank. It’s almost anticlimactic. Right now, it’s a bunch of “I don’t know” statements:
I don’t know how I feel about being finished.
I don’t know whether I ever want to go back and work on it again.
I don’t know whether it should ever see the light of day.
Every writer probably has those feelings upon finishing something he or she has worked on for a long time. XIII has been part of my life for nine years, and not thinking about the characters who inhabit its world and the settings in that world and the plot that I struggled over… well, it’s going to be very different.