It’s finally done. Yes, I mean the whole series.
After six months and a few days, numerous plot-holes, a few close-calls on the nervous breakdown front, it’s finally over. After many nights that would have turned me into a pumpkin if I’d been Cinderella (dammit, I’m not), many more nights of writing past the decent bedtime hour of anyone past the age of twenty four, after a few sleepless nights. After stalling, hitting holes in the road, holes in the story, holes in my brain; after getting depressed, elated, angry, hopeless, frustrated, stuck, unstuck, stuck again, inspired, down, up, around and sideways. After three extra books, many new and unexpected character hijackings, and even more chocolate bars, I’ve finished my last book in the series. I did it! I did the impossible and wrote and entire series, beginning to end, tied up all the loose ends (I hope—*biting nails*), brought the whole thing to a point where I was finally ready to push those babies off, wave goodbye, put the basket in the stream, and let the current take them away to their fate. Goodbye all you vampires, good bad and ugly. I’m finally done, ready to move on and wash my hands of you.
I am finally, finally, at peace and feel the story is done, or at least my part in it. I can walk away with a smile.
Or at least start revising.