I've spent the better part of this past year editing a three book, 887 page, YA dystopic fantasy novel. The author had approached me during NaNoWriMo 2010 and, since it was a paid gig, I dropped working on my manuscript and started working on his.
We're nearing the end now and the author just wrote to ask if I thought it was feasible to finish the whole thing before the end of October so he could reach his goal of having the whole thing polished and done by the end of November.
Of course I can, I said.
It's actually perfect timing. With NaNoWriMo 2011 fast approaching, I'd begun to think about getting back to my own writing. I haven't even looked at the Ana & Paul manuscript since I abandoned it last year. I started getting back into it by bringing a portion of Chapter 1 to my writing class this past Wednesday, letting them know that there were many things I liked about it and many things I hated and that I was counting on their feedback to get the manuscript where it needs to be. I've also been reading through the rest of the chapters, now a year distant from the story - and I really like it. I'm glad.
I've also got an outline worked out for this year's NaNoWriMo based on a crazy incident that happened in Vegas. I can't stop thinking about it, speculating what went wrong, or what makes a person do the things they do. I'm really excited to start it.
So, it just so happened that - the author and I are on the same page. We're both ready to be done and we're both ready to move on. Isn't that scary? His project is the biggest project I've ever worked on - including anything I've ever written myself. I've become so close to it, to the story and to his characters. I've worked so hard and loved every minute of it.
Of course I can, I said. I feel so, so sad that I can.