When the book is finally finished and off to the printer, two problems arise.
First, I convince myself it isn’t good enough. I don’t know if this is as much of a problem for authors who have publishers deciding when a book is ready, but as a self-published novelist, even one with a top notch editor and proofreader, people and things occur almost daily to erode my confidence. No one is shy about telling me what I should have, could have, and, if I had, would have done. So I bite my nails (well, I don’t do that actually, but you know what I mean) and wait for the sigh of disappointment from my fans. Will this be the book that disappoints them?
The second problem is that for the last year or so my subconscious has been kicking up these ideas, sometimes in the middle of the night, for improving the plot, or characters, or tension, or flow, or whatever. They don’t stop when the book is finished. So now, when I get a good idea, it pains me that it’s too late to incorporate it in the book. The only cure for this problem is to start the next book and plug away until my subconscious is diverted from the one I already put to bed.
So, Who more than Wished You Were Dead? is a done deal. On with Where Did You Meet Your Killer?