Yesterday, I emailed my novel to four friends who had offered to read it. I dropped a copy off at my writing partner’s house. The past few weeks I haven’t had more than 6 hours of sleep in any night. I’ve worked 6-10 hours a day on the book– the final push to get it in good enough shape to have others look at it. Even as I sent it off, I jotted down notes about adding a scene, doing a little more research on one topic, fixing a few details here and there. I suppose it will never be done. But in the nearly 1 year since I first opened a 12-year old, 100 page document off my old computer– the beginning of a novel that I started and never finished– I have been working almost non-stop on it. [Not a single one of those 100-pages made it into the new novel, but they were certainly the seeds that planted the idea (and the motivation) to finally write this book.]
Today, I will officially take the day off. I will do some yoga this morning, perhaps get my eyebrows threaded, schedule a hair-cut appointment, a dentist appointment and a mammogram. In other words, I will do all the self-maintenance I’ve put off for the past several weeks when I was squeezing every second out of every day to write. Soon enough, the book will come back to me with revisions and edits and suggestions and comments, and I’ll be in the throes of revisions again. But today, I will sit back, drink my tea, do some laundry, and perhaps, pick up a book to read. I’ve earned a little break. At least for one day. Most likely, tomorrow, when I’m restless and bored, and can’t turn off my constantly churning brain, I’ll start jotting down notes for my next novel.
Because in the end, I can never, ever really take a break from writing.