Two days ago I completed my manuscript and mailed it to an agent in California. I’ve been aimlessly wandering every since. You would think that I’d be relieved, instead I’m experience what feels like empty nest syndrome.
Our creations are our babies. Every morning I would wake up and passionately put my thoughts, and the thoughts of the universe, on paper. While doing so I was nourished and energized.
As I let go of my manuscript, there is a void inside. I intend to settle into the void rather than, say, start another book…