Yesterday, Tuesday June 29 at 5.33 pm I finished writing what I have always referred to simply as Book Number Two.
Now that it is finished – and I say hallelujah to that, not caring whether it is the Alexandra Burke or Jeff Buckley version – I can call it Snapshot. Although to be honest, right now I am just glad to call it completed.
How do you feel now that it is finished, I’ve been asked. Excited, proud? Nope. Absolutely knackered.
The overriding emotion is just tiredness. Sheer exhaustion, even. This wasn’t how I pictured it at all.
Maybe it would have been different if I hadn’t been writing it while also doing the day job. Or while watching the World Cup. Or being a naturally lazy sod. Or if I hadn’t let my deadline get quite so close before I finished.
The deadline was today. I hadn’t realised it would mean dead beat, dead tired, dead on my feet.
I ‘celebrated’ with a bottle of champagne, a smoked sausage supper and Spain v Portugal. Then falling fast asleep.
Romantic, it ain’t.
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