I typed “The End” on the first draft of Cold Black Stars a little after two a.m. last night. Today was my (completely arbitrary, self-imposed) deadline to finish it. It’s pure luck or coincidence that I finished on deadline. The end of a novel is such a hazy target when you don’t write with an outline. Even so, it’s especially satisfying to have finished on the date I picked. (My half birthday! There must be some luck in that, yes?)

My brain’s already worrying around the manuscript’s edges. All the things that I know missed the mark, the false steps, things that could be tighter, stronger, better, truer. There’s a character who needs to be cut. I need to dig deeper into everyone who remains.

But for now, I let it rest. I step away from it for a month at least, so I can see it with somewhat distanced eyes when I reread it and start to revise. In the meantime, there’s a short story that’s been nagging at me, so I’ll poke at that. And reading. Lots and lots of reading. I need to fill the well back up.