After nearly a decade I've finished the final draft of my first Hoodies novel. If I have to look at it again I'm going to scream until I'm sick. Even if nobody ever accepts it for publication, I'm not re-writing it again - well until next week, at least. Tomorrow I'm beginning the last re-write of book number two at the same time as finishing the first draft of book three. Book four is more than half way through. Either I'm going to give myself an aneurism of the imagination, or I'm finally going to have a four book series finished within six months.
My second seies is begging to be finished. Sometimes I can swear I hear muffled threats from my hard drive, demanding to know when I'm coming back to it. I usually ignore them as I do all unimportant questions like, Are you ever going to work? Are you ever going to fix that water leak? Stuff like that.