I'm looking forward to 2006, actually. I have this gut feeling that's it's going to be a good year.
Of course, that could be the crazy optimism that I feel after having finally completed my novel. It's a sort of insanity, this euphoria at being done. I liken it to the new mother who holds her little wrinkled bundle of mewling pinkness and proclaims it to be the most beautiful baby ever.
Well, yes. And no. There's something magical about all that promise just waiting to be fulfilled that makes the blank slate of the newborn seem like perfection. In reality, it's more a combination of the thrill of creation, the innocent helplessness of the infant, and our own egos being fed by replication that makes a baby seem like a culmination of all our hopes and dreams.
Which is how I feel about my novel now. But babies grow up. And books get published. I'm sure my feelings will change as time passes. And it will be painful to see my paper baby sent out into the world, facing the judgments and opinions of others, but the alternative isn't an option, so out it goes. Today. To my first tier of agents. Wish me luck. :)