My Mourning Period

Here I am again in the Overland.  And I'm at a loss as to what to do with myself.  I just finished reading quite a wonderful series: five books worth.  The first book I read, well listened to would be more accurate, while driving to and from my sister's home last month.  It was a 5-6 hour drive, and my husband was sweet enough to pick up some audio books for me to listen to on the way there and back.  I had seen this "new" series at the book store and realized it was an author I deeply enjoyed.  So my husband, the wonderful man that he is, found the first book in the series for me to listen to on my trip.

This last weekend, I was finally able to finish the last of the books in the series.  Relax, the series has been finished (Thank goodness!).  I guess the series wasn't as new as I thought. Now...

...what? What do I do with myself? I am here all alone, with the aftermath of a masterful story with strong characters and beautiful writing... and I feel like a lost fawn in the valley; alone, scared, and I have no idea what I am supposed to do now.

It is always a running joke in reading circles, that after a wonderful book or series of books, readers often find themselves facing the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

I felt like I hit all of those stages instantaneously. Denial that I was finished.  Anger at where it leaves us and that there are not any more to savor.  Bargaining with myself that I will buy them and keep them and read them over and over.  Depressed that it is over and there are no more and will never be anymore.  And now acceptance, that I loved them and I can go back to them whenever I want and love them for what they are.

Now I bounce back and forth between all 5 like a pinball machine until I can find a new novel or series of novels to invest myself into.  That is the hardest part.  Letting go.

I satisfy myself with the knowledge that I will always go back and think over and over and over them in my mind until I am satisfied that I have gleaned everything I can into my memory banks.  And when possible, read them again and again and again until they are etched into my brain.

So where have I been? Immersed in the great Underland of Suzanne Collins.  Her first series of books, mind you.  And I loved every moment of it.  They are wonderful, and it is a fantastic allegory for our lives and who we can choose to be despite what everyone says we must be.  Especially for a series written for 9-12 year olds.

Now where will I go?  I aim to use this push to re-immerse myself into my own world and push until I have stretched it into the wonderful shape I know it can be. That's the beauty of writing your own novel: you can live inside that world for as long as you want.  But don't forget that the best way to make it real is to write it, edit it, and watch it take shape.  I wonder how those 5 stages of grief will strike when I finish.