I printed my book for the first time today. I’d printed sections of it for editing, but never the entire thing until today. I used a discount card for small businesses and had the manuscript printed and hole-punched for under $9 at Office Depot. I’m pretty sure I’d have run through two $14 ink cartridges at my house if I’d done it at home.
This evening is the first one in a while that isn’t consumed with either working on my book or obsessing over it. I’m basking in the light at the end of the tunnel, I guess, but there’s still a long way to go until publication, and I’m not sure what to do with myself tonight. I’ve been making notes about things that I should add to the book— sometimes ideas that’ll fill out a paragraph, sometimes thoughts that might only amount to a sentence or two— but other than that, I’m a bit lost. My manuscript will come back from its first reader soon, and I wish I could jump into her head to know what she’s thinking.
I’ve been more productive around the house tonight since there’s no immediate need to work on my book, but accomplishing random tasks is weirdly unsatisfying. I re-laced some shoes with elastic speed laces. I washed a load of laundry. I ran the dishwasher. Mostly, I paced the floor and tried to calm myself about the awesome but unsettling stage of writing in which I currently live.
I’m excited, grateful, worried, and a million other emotions. Writing is the best job I’ve ever had, and I don’t take one second of it for granted— even on an evening when I’m not sure what to do with myself.