I’ve been working on a manuscript on and off for the last oh, six years. Most of my college career this draft and I had a torrid love affair. I’ve finally felt like I’ve been making leeway on this immense document sitting on my computer. I’ve written. And erased. And been frustrated. And Laughed. And written. And erased. So it goes.
But I can’t find the end.
I thought, I naively thought, that I knew where I wanted it to end. But now, the characters have taken on a life of their own. They became a lot different than I had originally intended for them to be. The heroine and I have had so many arguments. I want it to go this way, but clearly, the character should go another way. I’m basically arguing with myself. That’s not weird is it?
Where is the closure that I owe these characters?
Last night, instead of looking at the pages I’ve read so many times, I started another project. An idea for another story popped into my head and wouldn’t shut up so I had to write it down.
What most people fail to understand about those who love the written word is that we think about it 80-90% of our day. Words consume us. Words sustain us.
On my run last night, I wrote in my head. I caught myself making faces as I did it. Trying to find the ending is a like like my four-mile run last night. The first two miles are ok. The third one, I start feeling pretty good. The last mile, is almost agony. I’m so close to being done that I just want it to be over with. I just want to stop running. But I keep going. I might be sweating through my shorts, but I keep going.
“Write drunk, edit sober” is a quote usually attributed to Hemingway. I’m not sure who said it exactly, but there’s something to it. Write when the idea is fresh and new in your brain. It’s not going to make a helluva lot of sense, but it’s still there. It’s still on paper. Edit sober, when the idea has sat around for a few days, or weeks, and the pieces start to come together.
But how to find the end. I feel like my brain is depleted and it simply cannot regain it’s momentum. But I’ve felt like this before, and gotten through it. Its just one more mile that I have to run.
Maybe a glass of wine will help.
Peace, Love, Words,
P.S. Brown dog doesn’t like reading. Unless he can eat it. Then he’d probably like it.
P.P.S. Nanu nanu.