There are no two words that are prettier to an author than The End. We like it, we love it, we want some more of it.
Unfortunately for most of us, getting to The End is an eternal pain in the backside. Some of us write a million drafts, some of us sculpt and hone one draft. Any way you look at it, the process is one of pain, misery, and tears. You lose sleep at night and your blood has a higher caffeine concentration than a latte from Starbucks with fifteen espresso shots. And that's when things are going well. That agony is balanced by this scary, overwhelming drive to finish. If the characters are talking to you and the world building is working, it's a rush that's right next door to orgasm. (Nothing ever actually beats an "O" face. Not even chocolate. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
When we get to The End, it's a time of joyous celebration and end zone dances that put the NFL to shame.
Why am I blogging about this? You guessed it. I just put a full-length novel manuscript to bed last night at 1AM. I'm a bit loopy, but grinning from ear to ear. Is it wrong or weird to pet a manuscript while it sits on your desk awaiting the UPS delivery guy?