Well, I’ve finished Junction X. On Wednesday I think it was - nearly 70,000 words and two years and a bit more in the making. I cried like a baby when I wrapped it up, then went and bought my “tradition” tipple when I finish a novel - several bottles of Cava - and proceeded to kill off as many brain cells as possible.  One should have traditions.

I then went through all the come down emotions that I assume most writers have to deal with, smugness, relief, euphoria, happiness, sudden dissatisfaction, and then a realisation that, for the first time in over two years I had nothing waiting for me to finish - I had no WIP.

Well, that last about 24 hours. Now I’ve started two short stories (there are a ton of anthologies around at the moment) and pitched a proposal to a publisher for a Christmas/Holiday project.

This doesn’t mean that “Fleury” or “The Further Fortunes of Fleury” (or whatever) is being forgotten about, he’s (barring miracles) definitely the next novel I’m going to be working on. I admit freely that the research is scaring me not a little, but I think once he gets off the ship and lands in whatever city he lands in, it’s going to be fun.

So - the book is dead - long live the book!