I’m trying to finish a novella, and it’s not going well. The last quarter of a story is the hardest for me. I’m not a plotter, but by the time I get two-thirds to four-fifths of the way through my novel, I know what those last few scenes are going to be.
And endings are a bitch. I hate finishing things. I lose interest once I’ve "discovered" the story, once I know the ending and how we get there. I’m also neurotic about them: tying up all the loose ends, reading through what I have over and over trying to find more loose ends, and trying to finish the story coherently when it’s begun to be a big blur of shit, LOL.
But you gotta do what you gotta do, so you sit down and finish what was once "my favorite story so far" and is now "the goddamned thing." I gotta finish it by last week.
I’ve been living in this story, imagining the scenes in the shower, as I lay in bed waking up, as I lay in bed going to sleep, as we drive down the road.
To escape from this fictional world, I’ve been reading more fiction. I’ve found two worlds I love so much, I’m reading them concurrently.
Yes, this means I am currently living in THREE fictional worlds.
And as I sat down to write today, I was tired with the beginnings of a headache. Do you know what I thought? I thought that I’d much rather go home, lay in the bathtub or lay in bed, and daydream in my fictional world than actually bother to write it down.
At that thought, I grew a little worried about my sanity, LOL.
Well, it’s disconcerting to rather live in the fictional worlds I’ve created than the real world. Isn’t that bordering on some sort of psychological problem???
(Am I doing that thinking-too-much thing again?)
Hmm, no conclusions today, the brain is too fuzzy and tired. Except the wonderful thing about writing for NY would be the slower pace of writing. Sure would be nice to write only 300,000 or so words a year at best.
But to get there, I gotta write more, faster, better, and with a headache.