Something thrilling happened today, and it was more exciting than a day at the beach, but not quite as miraculous as winning the lotto: I finished the first draft of the book I’ve been writing.

That’s right. I created a man and woman out of whole cloth, gave them personalities, a whole lot of problems and a fierce mutual attraction, and watched while they forged a relationship. It was tough going for a while. They didn’t always like each other. They didn’t always make smart decisions. But they stuck it out, had a lot of laughs and discovered they want to spend their lives together. So this afternoon I told them good-bye and sent them on their happily ever after.

And I pretended I’d never have to deal with them again. For now, I’ll act as if I don’t have to deal with their occasional whining, crying and gnashing of teeth through (at least!) two more drafts. Just for a while, I’ll ignore the fact that I have a lot—a whole lot–of editing to do. I’ll pretend this manuscript came in at the right word count, isn’t filled with purple prose, adverbs and clichés, and explores the relationship between men and women in a revolutionary and fascinating new light.

And while I’m at it, why don’t I pretend the manuscript is already sold? No. Wait. Why don’t I pretend a couple big publishers got into a bidding war and one bought the book at auction for a record price? That right here, on my computer’s hard drive, is a future NYT bestseller to rival “The DaVinci Code”? That Oprah’s producers are pounding on my door, begging me to do her book club?

I know, I know. I’ll have to face reality one day soon. But not today. Today I’m going to enjoy the natural high that comes from finishing a book.