I Finished My Manuscript… Now I Have No Idea What I’m Doing.
Insert the “chuckles, I’m in danger” meme from the Simpson’s here because it’s true.
I am in danger.
I thought finishing a manuscript would feel cinematic. Cue the swelling music, tears, a profound sense of accomplishment, maybe a bald eagle screeching overhead.
Instead, I typed “the end,” smiled for ten minutes, ran to the FedEx store to print my manuscript (while the employees tried not to stare at me while all 441 pages of it printed), and now I am sitting here staring at this BEHEMOTH of a book on my desk, that I wrote, and Googling things I probably should have known before writing 101,000+ words…
Whoops.
I would be lying if I said I still don’t feel a sense of accomplishment or that I’m not giving myself a big, internal standing ovation, but there is also so much anxiety about what comes next. (Can I get a King George from Hamilton?)
Now I have to revise this thing? All 441 pages of it? I literally don’t have words to describe the sigh that comes out of my mouth each time I look at this tome on my desk and remember I have to edit it. Obviously I knew that writing the book was only the first step, but I think a part of me never really thought I would finish it, let alone write 101,000 words.
There was a pretty weird emotional crash that happened after all the elation of finishing the manuscript. Physically holding my FIRST manuscript in the car, hot off the printer, was a feeling I will never be able to capture properly. This has been a concept since December of 2024 when I took a creative writing course to finish the last credit I needed to complete my B.A. in Anthropology. I never expected it to reignite my love for writing that I have carried my entire life. I wrote what would eventually become the concept for the ending of this manuscript, The Whisper Beneath the Crown. Back then, I called this piece “Ashes of the Lost Gods”, and let me tell you, a lot about the story has changed since December of 2024. So much that I don’t even really remember how I got from that original 1,000-word piece to where the manuscript is now. All I know is that I am forever grateful for that creative writing class and for my professor pushing me to continue my academic career into an M.F.A. program.
But now, the anxiety has hit me hard. I am basically social media illiterate, especially when I compare myself to other debut authors, Bookstagram, BookTok, etc. pages. And yes, I know, comparison is the thief of joy, but I can’t help it. How the heck are they creating such pretty content? Where do they get all these pictures? There’s no way its Pinterest because I can’t find a damn thing on that site. (Okay, maybe its user error.) Canva?
Is it witchcraft?
Aliens?
I don’t know, but I am not finding the right things.
And, on top of that, I have to market this thing? How can I market it when I have no idea how to create content for it?
Do I have to show my face?
What if I am too ugly for TikTok and Instagram?
(Yes I know that sounds dramatic, but if you are a woman on the internet in 2026, you probably get it.)
What in the WORLD is SEO?
And please, can I do all of this on the big internet (i.e. my computer)? Because the little internet (my cellphone) makes things so much harder than they need to be and my 32-year-old, 9-month post-op LASIK eyes absolutely cannot handle staring at a tiny screen for so long.
There are so many questions. So many uncertainties. So many thought of what if I’m not good enough?
Or even worse… what if I am good enough at writing, but I’m not good enough at the content creation side of it that my work never gets seen?
For now, I will be sitting with these thoughts. I don’t know what to do with them at this point. I’m not certain these thoughts of inadequacy will ever leave. Or at the very least, not entirely.
BUT!
I have a book. That I wrote. That I get edit. That I am proud of.
For now, that is enough. I will ride this high and take whatever comes next with a grin, a lot of espresso, and probably a healthy (or not so healthy) amount of complaining.