So my newest novel has gone out for sale, and sales are in fact trickling in, but I cannot help but feel a melancholy. For the last six weeks I have been caught up in editing, amending, cutting, added, creating a cover...the usual hurly-burly. Now it is done, and is being read. The project is over. No more wondering what it needs. My next project is 65k words of rough draft, so if all goes well in a couple months I will begin the entire process all over again. So I should be happy. I have come to believe I like writing more than publishing.
Similar to raising a child then sending it out into the world. Writer's version of empty nest syndrome.