There is a curious hollow feeling that comes from sending a draft of novel off to be critiqued.
It has been eating focus, attention, concentration, energy-it has been monopolizing as much brain as is available and then some-and now it is done. Gone. Off to other garner other people’s thoughts. Not productive to fiddle with it any more for awhile
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I was just reading Fran Wilde's acknowledgements for Updraft, (which is full of people I know, plus our VP class en masse) and having a moment of realizing that if I keep up with this writing community thing, at some point I'll end up name-checked in the back of someone's book, and it was very odd. I don't think my brain has caught up with all the implications of writerly community yet.
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It's neat.
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