Yesterday I was so happy I got to the 50K word threshold. I wanted to spend the day celebrating.
Being a mommy, it didn't exactly work out that way. My big kids went their way with their friends. My husband came home from work grumbly (he shares my recent insomnia so I get it). My toddler is in the midst of potty training (yay me) so I spent the afternoon obsessing over whether the little picture on his pull-up had disappeared.
At some point in the day, my joy faded. Self-doubt found its way in and took over.
My husband asked to read the chapters in an attempt to cheer me up. I had already marked edits on the pages. He read it and laughed out loud more than once. But I still didn't trust his reaction. He said he loved it. I couldn't help but feel like maybe he was just saying that to try to cheer me up.
We had Indian carry-out at home (my favorite). But it didn't seem like a celebration. The point of my joy had come and gone. My big kids weren't there and my babes had fallen asleep. I wasn't excited about it anymore. I was happy. I could see it was a milestone. But I wasn't ecstatically happy about it.
It's OK though. My character falls into a very dark depression in the next chapter. Maybe I can transform my current blah feeling into a really awesome chapter.
By the way, Kid in the Front Row once again wrote a very inspirational blog post today. He talks about success and what it means to writers and artists vs. normal people. He is right - success for me is creating that one moment that speaks to people, that touches them. I think I have done this in my novel. So today, I write some more.