Sometimes, despite having the imagination of a child, I think I have the memory of…something that doesn’t have much of a memory.
See, I’m coming to the end of my current work in progress. And I’m DRAGGING my feet to get it done. I’m seriously like…a chapter away from completion. But the closer I draw to the finish, the less I want to go to the page. And I can’t remember if I always feel this way, or if it’s just this particular WIP that’s giving me completion paralysis. Or, not paralysis, because I haven’t stopped writing. Completion molasses…es.
I asked my husband, and he says I do this every time. I come toward the end of my project only to find I feel like I have to force myself across the finish line. And then I feel bad for feeling like I have to force myself, which makes me feel worse about writing at all. And then part of me wants to rush the rest to just get it over with, but another part of me knows the writing will suffer and I’ll feel guilty for rushing to the end just to get it over with. And because I love writing, I feel guilty for having the feeling of “wanting to get it over with” in the first place.
So I slog away, and I maintain my word counts, and I try not to think about how close the end is coming.
Hubby says it’s because I enjoy the writing journey and don’t want to find myself a new one. I guess that’s at least partially true; I do enjoy the journey, and I enjoy the shiny-new feeling of a blank Scrivener file in front of me and a whole world to tackle and form.
It might be that this book is particularly tough because I know, as my first sequel, it’s going to need a lot more editing work than my others because I’ll not only have to re-read for sentences and tone but also for continuity from the first book, which just seems like such a daunting task. It might also be because my writing group reviewed some of the first book in this duology and had lots of comments, and I’m discouraged because part of me wanted them to just tell me I’m brilliant and wonderful (though I know I can’t grow as a writer that way, so I really am grateful for their constructive comments).
So, yeah. The end is nigh, and I’m looking forward to it, and I’m dreading it. Mostly I’m keeping an eye on the carrot, which is that squeal-inducing rush of excitement when I put the last word on the page and hit save. Because that’s always, always worth the angst that seems to happen to me every time I’m coming close to finishing a book but haven’t quite got there yet.
How about you, you writers out there? Do you find this kind of thing happening? How do you deal with it?