Sort of. I have just completed a marathon session (about four weeks straight) of disassembling and revising a novel I thought I’d completed years ago. The rewrite came at a request. I may have news, but not now. That’s for later.
I don’t know about others, but when I finish a big project like that, I tend to have a day or two of complete confusion. I don’t know what to do with myself. For several years, I cleaned house afterward, which occupied the time I might spend brooding, used whatever left-over energy from the writing process, and performed a domestically useful job. …