The bear went over the mountain

There's a song I used to sing/listen to when I was a kid that I find depressingly appropriate right now. "The bear went over the mountain to see what he could see. He found another mountain..."

This is me right now. Last night I finished writing my book. Dawson, Cris and Casey and their dragons have arrived at The End, and I must say it is a much better end than it was however many years ago when I finished it the first time. I could hardly sleep last night, I was so excited, and I kind of floated through the day on wings of blissful giddiness. It was a GOOD feeling. Clams have nothing on my happiness this day. And to make it even better, chocolate was added to my joy in the form of a cake with the words "DRAGONS! They Have Arrived" written on top. Yes, I do have the best husband ever. (And sons. My girl was playing with a friend and missed out on the cake-buying expedition, though she's still the best even so.)

So what does that have to do with bears and mountains? I now have to write a query letter, and find somebody to send it to, and possibly even write a synopsis *shudder*. (And assuming I get all of that done, I then have to actually send said query letter to found persons, and that is a whole lot more like jumping off a cliff than climbing a mountain.) I climbed the freakin' mountain (74,000 words, thank you very much) only to find another freakin' mountain on the other side. In fact, I dare say it's a whole entire range, and I'm feeling just a tiny bit deflated. But you know what the bear did? He climbed the other mountain. And so will I.