Last weekend I took a vacation with my family over to Eastern Oregon and while they watched football in the afternoons, I did a final edit on my first novel. I wrote this book in 2008-2009 and haven't really looked at it since. I pitched it to some agents at a conference in 2010 with no luck, and the agent who signed me up for my second novel last summer wasn't really interested in this first book either. So I set it aside. But now I've decided to self-publish it. I'd like to get it out into the world. What's more, I'd like to have it complete instead of on hold.
It was interesting to read it again. It is so familiar to me; I created these characters and their stories after all. And yet I'd forgotten some things. I also could very plainly see how much better a writer I've become in the last three years and for several moments I was tempted to do some major revisions. But the truth is, this story doesn't interest me all that much now. I'm glad I wrote it. I think it's a very good romance. And an unusual one as it's told from the man's point of view. But I am done with it and have already moved on. Sort of like running into an old boyfriend. You still have affection for him but you don't want to spend much time with him.
So for better or worse, I'm done with it. The manuscript has now moved on to a final proofreader. I've asked her to note anything egregious but other than that I'm complete.