At the end of January, I finished the first draft of my novel. I’ve been working on it for a few years now, so it’s an odd feeling to suddenly be done (well, as done as a first draft can be). I find myself thinking about it a lot, particularly ways I can improve it, plot lines that need to be tied up, characters who need to be better developed. I’ve made notes, and jotted down potential changes, but I’ve resisted the urge to actually open the full document because I know that only time will give me the clarity and energy I’ll need to begin revising for real.
Instead, I’ve been filling my time with lots of other things. I actually take walks during lunch instead of hovering over my laptop. I’ve written a few short stories. I’ve read books (so many books!). I joined a gym, and I actually worked out (I don’t know if you all know how much of an accomplishment this is). Basically, I’ve made time for myself as a person who isn’t working on a novel. It’s been a long time since I’ve been that person, and while I don’t want to be her forever, it’s nice to make sure she’s alive every now and then.