After the Big Finish and Bargaining with the Muse

As we all know, finishing a big writing project is great. Euphoric. The End has arrived. For months, or perhaps years, you have lived with the absolute uncertainty it is actually going to happen...until it does. *Jump for joy and set off fireworks!*




Well, that was fun. I wish it would have lasted longer. Let's do it again.





Better? Yeah! Again? Sure! *Repeat as many times as you want.*

Eventually, sorry to say, you come back to earth. Now what? What's next? I know, everyone is different in how they answer. Maybe some people jump into the next big thing. As for me, I can't imagine it. For me, I find the euphoria after the big finish comes skipping in, hand-in-hand, with a declaration of never again. Absolutely, no way am I going to do that again! Writing a novel is nuts. It made me nuts. I'm done. I'm exhausted from building worlds and breaking and mending hearts.

And so it begins. Along with the euphoria of finishing, there is always a time of superstitious bargaining with my Muse. Ugh! It's a difficult transition after months of welcoming crazy, plot twisting, chaos filled ideas that have changed the story and moved the characters toward their goals. It makes me nervous to start making demands now, when I know, because we've been living together for so long, that the Muse tends to get a little bored with reasonable arguments. She knows best. She knows she can convince me. But still, I try. It is time for a break. Not only did I finish a novel, I finished a series. I deserved a break, right? I waited a long time for this.

Does she care? I'm not sure. Does she know I'm not entirely serious about never again? I'm not sure. In the back of my mind, as I break from this story, this familiar world, with days and weeks of deciding what is next, I start to worry. Maybe I was too harsh. Too ungrateful. Yes, it was all about me. I could have said it better. Break ups are hard. Saying "it's not you, it's me" never works out well. But there are times when you want the distance. Truth be told, my Muse and I have broken up many times before the big finish.

So, she knows, right? She knows I'm not entirely serious. It's nothing more and nothing less than a ritual after every big finish. And that's a good thing to have as a writer. It means I have been at this place before. I can get here again. It doesn't matter how many times I thought I never would while in the midst of the murky middle or struggling to figure out the ending.

Those struggles linger. After the big finish, I find myself staring blindly at the last page before the euphoria sinks in. I suppose part of me lingers, imagining the future not written. I do this as a reader, and I think I do the same as a writer, only this time I'm listening, one last time. I'm wondering if there is anything else I need to add, any last requests? Or even some complaints. The Muse, my definitely not on-call expert in making trouble, has to be satisfied the characters haven't had it too easy. She would think nothing of sending me back, all the way to the beginning if need be, to rewrite things to her liking! But finally, even she, I think, is standing in the wings brushing a tear from her eye. She nods her approval and it's enough. It's good. She does have a heart, after all.

*Big sigh.* Yes, it's done. We can all say farewell. I can blink again. And, yes, jump up and down and set off fireworks! That clarity of closure, by the way, is the best feeling.The writer too, needs a happily-ever-after.

So, yes, the reward is great. But so is the commitment. After the big finish, is it any wonder it takes time to be brave enough to set off on the journey again? To listen to a demanding cast and want to give them what they want until the Muse jumps in with an idea to do the opposite? She knows I will be persuaded to her way of thinking, even if it will push back all optimistic expectations of when the big finish will happen. It will. It does. You keep going, encouraged by knowing each story gets better, knowing, on the good days, that maybe your abilities are getting closer to matching that vision of the "story in your head." You try for more. You don't give up, even if it seems like no one is waiting to read this story or if all that is driving you is maybe nothing more than that a search for that sense of closure, whether it's for yourself or for the characters you love. Or even the Muse.

Yes, it is good to have finished again. Finishing again means we have faith the Muse will come back. You could even say it's inevitable. Yes, that will make you cringe, just a little. Inevitable doesn't have  as comforting a ring to it as having faith does. But we all know writing a novel isn't a comfortable way to spend your time. It's a constant tug of war of wanting to do it and not wanting to do it. And, after the long awaited big finish, you will want the Muse to come back, but just not right away. Is that too much to ask? You ask. How about we both take a break? But not too long, you add quickly. Don't forget me.

I think it's been long enough. I think. Only, I don't think my Muse and I are entirely on speaking terms yet. Actually, I wonder if maybe she's spending time in the world we built. That would be just like her, to make me go searching as a way to tempt me back. (I bet she has plans for Lilian, a beloved secondary character. Who knows what trouble she's getting her into. She did hint at a few ideas...) But, no. I told her no! Maybe, one day, but not yet. I'm trying out a new story. New characters, a brand new world...

Yes, I know, never again. Famous last words and all that. The thing is, it feels a bit like maybe my Muse is new to this too. Hey, wait a minute. Did she send a replacement? That would be another thing just like her. To send me a temp. Or, if I keep trying, if I commit to listening, will she step in? How long before I know for sure it's really her? I guess only time will tell. Eventually, after a lot of trouble making, I'll know.

Charting a Course of Progress

I hate to admit it, but I've had some rediculously high expectations over the years for what tools, experience or qualifications I thought I needed to write or call myself a writer. My thinking has changed over time, and I'm starting to revise my thinking about the importance of writing milestones or how we gage our progress. I'm not sure how to describe it, but perhaps these days I think more in terms of wish lists and less of must haves.

For instance, wouldn't it be nice if the "milestones" we chose to plot in our "progress chart" weren't only those big moments of sales or finished projects? Wouldn't it be nice to think of any encounter with writing as brushing shoulders with our Muse?

Here's what I'd like for self evaluation -- a progress chart where we acknowledge our writing in all forms -- our novels and short stories, but also essays, journals, letters, blogs or even reading or thinking about writing. I often think we forget how this interaction with the Muse makes whatever we write next, in whatever format, be better. It's as if our course of progress has already been charted by many intangible milestones.

What would a graph look like if you plotted out your interaction with the Muse over a reasonably long time span? What if you included everything -- from the days you only had a moment to jot down the ideas as came to you, which meant you were open to listening, to how, on the best days, the ideas flew from your mind to your fingers?

If this hypothetical graph of your Muse's activity is anything like mine, it has a lot of spikes, flat lines, and an occasional nosedive, representing a tangent that seems unrelated to the plotted course. But most important, the chart is full of activity. Even when the line is lateral, progress may be creeping along in another form. Perhaps during flat times you're either absorbing knowledge or maybe handling revisions to straighten out the kinks. The Muse hasn't left -- you're only working together. And according to a predictable path of the graph, it will return with an upturn of ideas.

The Muse is not only fickle, it often shows little regard for pace. Rarely, when we are lucky, we get a nice, manageable cruising speed we long to maintain. But typically, at times the Muse gives us everything at once, at times it leads us down the wrong path, and at other times it stalls out, seemingly going dormant.

But hopefully, there is also an arrow at the end pointing in an upward direction. As long as you judge yourself fairly, I think most every writer would be pleasantly surprised if they tallied up the small stuff for charting a course of progress.