Finally. Done. Disney script handed in, which means I can float in the pool and tell myself what a puctual, creative and god-like writer I am.
Okay. 1) I have no pool unless you count the basin of mosquito-infested water sitting in the wooden barrel my wife "rolled" home last summer, 2) I don't really think I'm "god-like", I'm much more "false-idol" worthy, and 3) being done never means much more than a quick five-fingered pat on the ol' back before jumping back into the moving traffic of writing other stuff.
In this case I am ecstatic to get back to BOOK #2 and see what the characters have been doing while I left them in the lurch. Hopefully they are past their abandonement issues, have wonderful secets to tell me and none of them have been abducted by brain-altering aliens from the planet Schmootz (tho on second thought - could be interesting).
Of course, there's this part of me that is anxious aboutwhat I'll find when I peek back under the lid. What if my characters have packed their bags and split? What if the story no longer even reads well? What if I CAN'T WRITE A SINGLE WORD!!!! (Hey, I'm a writer - insecurities are part of the job.)
Rambling over. I feel better. Time to go before I find more ways to not start again!