Coming to the End
I always get a little antsy when I get to the end of a book. Which is weird, because when I finish reading a book, I get lazy and happy--a condition that lasts anywhere from 5 minutes to 1 hour, depending on how good the book was and how demanding the girls are being.
But when I finish a book that I'm writing--or rather, when I'm approaching the end of a book that I'm writing--I get antsy. Part of it is just the desire to be done, and part is a worry for the character: will they manage when I finish? What happens next in their story? Am I telling that, or is this adieu?
And if this is the end of a story--the end of the journey for that character--what then? Who do I write about next? Since my current project is of that variety, I'm feeling a bit fragile. Which, I know, is ridiculous--I have a sequel that's begging to be written for FireFall. Maybe it's the dismal weather. Maybe it's the simple fact that although I know the story is over, I will miss these crazy, irritating fae.
But when I finish a book that I'm writing--or rather, when I'm approaching the end of a book that I'm writing--I get antsy. Part of it is just the desire to be done, and part is a worry for the character: will they manage when I finish? What happens next in their story? Am I telling that, or is this adieu?
And if this is the end of a story--the end of the journey for that character--what then? Who do I write about next? Since my current project is of that variety, I'm feeling a bit fragile. Which, I know, is ridiculous--I have a sequel that's begging to be written for FireFall. Maybe it's the dismal weather. Maybe it's the simple fact that although I know the story is over, I will miss these crazy, irritating fae.