It's a thing. Every time I finish a book, I feel this crushing sense of loss.
(In case it wasn't obvious, I finished The Muse. You have to wait until August anyway, but it's done.)
I don't know why. Usually when I finish a book it's after three years or so of getting the idea, writing the first draft, editing, pleading with the characters to let me sleep (it's FOUR AM! I'm TIRED!)...so you'd think I'd do a little dance at the end. Maybe go, 'Novel has given Writer a sock! Writer is FREE!'
But no. I think I must like pain, because I sit at my desk, staring at the now novel-less screen, and feel a bucketload of angst settle down around my shoulders.
I don't know. Maybe I should do something with chocolate.