After a flurry of writing this morning, I've now reached the final chapter of the new book.
You may well think this should be a cause of me feeling pleased with myself. And I am, a little, but there's more of a sense of trepidation.
Allow me to explain. When I write a book, it's such a huge process that it becomes a part of my life. There's the planning stage, which takes months, and effectively involves me falling in love with the idea as I develop it and grow fonder and fonder of it.
Then there's the actual writing, which again takes many months - about five in this case. During that time, the book becomes so close to me that I write some just about every day, and muse about it even more often.
I've thought hard about this, but it's not an exaggeration to say it becomes like a relationship. We spend a lot of time together each and every day, enjoying each other's attentions (well, I certainly enjoy the book's and I assume it enjoys mine as I'm writing it), and then suddenly comes a point when I can see the end approaching.
I'm left knowing I'll miss it badly, and wondering what can ever possibly replace it. From experience of writing the other five tvdetective books, I know this can prompt quite an unpleasant slump in me. Hence the trepidation.
I know that may all sound rather bizarre, but as I've said before I try to be honest in these blogs, and that's the truth of it.
So, when I've had a fortifying cup of tea, I shall commence work on the final chapter, with a little due tightening of the chest and a mistiness of the eye.
Yours for now, in a slightly emotional / whimsical mood...