Finishing a project can inspire many feelings: relief, joy, satisfaction, accomplishment. Nervousness about how it will be received, or pride in reaching a goal.
It can also bring about an
"empty-nest" feeling, a sense of being lost. When characters occupy
one's head for weeks or months or years, it can be startling when,
instead of cavorting across the mind's stage, they sit in the wings
picking at their fingernails. "Our story has been told," they tell the
author. "We're resting now. Go away."
That cup must be emptied in
order to be refilled, to make room for a new story. One can fear that
temporary emptiness, or embrace it. It's like a rest in music, or white
space on a page: blankness with a purpose.