Yesterday at around 3 p.m. I finished the revisions on "Shades of Grey" and sent the manuscript back to my editor at Severn House in London. Within minutes, I'd gotten a very nice response (which makes me wonder about the hours she keeps). I guess I must have been more keyed up than I thought, because I teared up as I read the last page and then suddenly felt exhausted. The cat was enjoying her midday nap, so I fitted myself into the remaining third of the bed and slept for about a half hour. Then I got up... and wrote 1,300 words on "Grey Matters," as I am tentatively calling the sequel.
Often I feel sad when I finish a book. I think I've been working on this one for so long that maybe that won't hit me. Maybe I'll just feel relieved?