Steinbeck's lonely high

Nearing the end of my draft, I'm reminded of what Steinbeck wrote in a letter to his agent about finishing the draft of "Of Mice and Men." He was alone in a cabin in the mountains -- the Sierra Nevadas maybe. Anyway, he finished the draft of the novel and found himself both exhilarated and lonely -- he was high from finishing but had no one to share this emotion with except his dog, alone in the mountains.

To celebrate, he started drinking -- and kept drinking for a couple days. When he sobered up he discovered that his dog had destroyed the manuscript. Then he drank because he was depressed.

Finally he sobered up and decided to start over -- but he didn't have the energy to write the long novel all over again so he told the same story as a short novel. This is the wonderful hit version we have today. Steinbeck thereafter called the dog the best literary critic he ever knew.

I don't think writers ever get to celebrate their highest high, alone or not, because this happens during the work, at the moment when one sees that everything has come together and is working. This is a solitary moment but the highest high of the entire process, at least in my case, that first realization that the concept has found form and has been done. The rest is fiddling.