My last article was about the all-or-nothing streak of crazy that fuels NaNoWriMo—thirty solid days of self-motivated writing to reach the goal of finishing a novel. I don’t believe, however, that the experience ends there. Something happens after a solid month of intense productivity, something I find hard to describe, but easy to feel. It’s more than just emotion, more than just being ‘burnt out’. It’s a conglomeration of side effects pooled in one person, and they can manifest many different ways for every writer.

First of all, NaNoWriMo is violent. It rearranges schedules and disrupts sleep cycles. It’s a thirty-day, force-started habit, and like all habits, a human settles in and adapts the change into part of everyday life. With NaNo, however, it can be an even stronger connection because the habit is based on passion. On December first (or May or August first), the new habit stops. Given that you’ve finished the project, there’s no need to follow a lunatic’s writing schedule anymore. It’s over. Tearing away from a hyper-creative habit like that so suddenly isn’t as easy as it sounds. Yes, it can be liberating to have free time again; no need to set the alarm two hours early, or stay up until 1:59 p.m. hitting that day’s word count goal. You can slow down, focus. Breathe.

But then there are the things you miss.

A major driving force behind each day last month is gone. Motivation can plummet.

If you create NaNo playlists, then the songs you just spent thirty days listening to represent you novel and only your novel. (Music is addictive, and an incredible memory tool). Every time one comes on, your brain wonders why you aren’t writing.

Other creative pastimes can feel less productive. As soon as I finish a novel challenge I go straight to art, but a finished picture pales in comparison to a finished book. After all, it only took between an hour to two days to finish.

Relaxation feels forced. For me, writing is a form of relaxation. When I have no deadline to guide me, all the energy diffuses. The ‘I deserve a break’ mentality only makes this more confounding.

Communication with fellow NaNo writers slopes off when the challenge month ends. Community support is a huge source of motivation for struggling writers, and when it disappears, so can the energy.

And the hardest one, by far, is leaving the book itself. You just spent an entire month developing, shaping and loving a cast of characters, and then their story is over. All the dialogue, plot twists, fight scenes, outlining, word sprints, villains and heroes come to an abrupt close. Waking up the next day and not bringing these things to life strips a writer to the bone. As I mentioned, NaNoWriMo is violent.

This aftermath can apply to more than writing. Any artist, in any medium, goes through these and more when they complete a large project. It happens after a thoroughly-planned wedding takes place. It happens after you finish a research project or presentation on something you love. Pouring oneself into a creative outcome breeds emptiness afterward.

Luckily, NaNoWriMo happens three times a year, and of course, almost any writer will say that writing daily, regardless of a personal challenge, is one of the best ways to improve. The burst of productivity can slow down, but don’t let it stop. As they say, a writer writes.