i will get to The End of this book even if it kills me

I’m writing the last chapter of current work-in-progress (I don’t even have a working title, not a good sign! *panics*).  This is not as good news as it could be because I skipped over the final Big Scene (because I haven’t figured it out yet) and went straight for the denouement and the epilogue, Cheating For The Win!  Let’s hurry to The End because by gawd, it’s ABOUT DAMN TIME. So, yeah, I’ll have to go back to that BIG FREAKING BLANK SPOT but other than that, I’m like this close.

There is just…GAH! there is something in the center of this book  I haven’t figured out yet—and it’s driving me NUTFUCKING CRAZY.  I keep whittling away at it, but something, something right in the center, is eluding capture.  It’s maddening, I tell you.  There is a hole in my book and the story keeps leaking out….

Nevertheless, soon, like, in the next couple of days, I’ll have typed The End, for the Very First Time (on this book) (there are usually a couple of times you type The End), and that will, indeed, be Something, at least.  It will mean I have all the clay on the wheel.  Time to make it into a pot.

Wouldn’t it be nice if all this extra, struggle-filled work meant that this will be an extra-gooder book?  But no: there is no correlation between how hard a novel is to write and how good it finally will be.  All the struggle might mean the damn thing is fundamentally and fatally flawed.

That would suck.

The only thing to do is to keep walking, keep working, one word after another.  BUT (says the inner tyrant voice) I’m nine months and 60,000 words in and I haven’t even typed The End once yet!  What the f is wrong with this book?!!? *pulls hair, gnashes teeth, moans*

However!  I’m not listing to that crazy voice. I’m Staying Positive.  So, my pretties, The End is coming soon, wait for it, wait for it

In the meantime, I look at this photograph when I get stuck (re: all the time) and I find it helps me out.  To me it’s Hazel, looking moody over Takeda’s violin.  I imagine the ghost of her dead mother hovering somewhere over her shoulder….

Hazel and the violin

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