For the last few weeks I’ve been an absolute bitch. Don’t believe me? Ask my family. Ask my friends. All those people who love me should probably get medals of honor because they not only survived the wrath of unrelenting bitch, they still loved me when all was said and done. They even smiled without having to force it and said things like, “No, you’re not a glare-murdering psycho.” That’s love, people. Seriously.

I was really starting to believe I was going off the deep end. Part of me thought it was probably something hormonal making me want to cut people with scissors, and while that was more than likely a contributing factor, the real culprit reared its pretty little head last night when I typed the words “THE END” on the last page of one of the manuscripts I’ve been writing. It was like I’d finally stabbed the thing in need of a good stabbing, and as the lead balloon became a pretty white swan lifting its wings for takeoff, I felt a huge weight rise with it, and I could breathe for the first time in weeks.

Such powerful words, THE END. Upon typing them, my entire attitude shifted. It was like a tiny little switch inside me clicked into the off position and the bitch returned to resting mode. Suddenly I was dancing around, making absurd jokes, giggling nonsensically, smiling. SMILING. That’s a huge deal because my regular face tends to look like this a lot:



Because 90% of the time I’m not finishing a story, I’m in the middle of writing one, and writing is hard. Finishing is hard. I suspect the determination surrounding the finishing of things is what contributes to the tightened muscles around the mouth, the scathing sarcasm and acidic glare. That determination is Annie Wilkes standing in the shadows with a sledghammer, threatening to break my legs to keep me in the chair until it’s FINISHED. Let’s face it–Annie Wilkes doesn’t motivate with kindness. She wants what she wants, she wants it done right, and she wants it now! That’s a lot of pressure, so of course it’s going to stir up all kinds of angst until you type the words she wants to hear: THE END.

And now that I’ve typed them there is relief… for now. Annie is contented as she reads over the draft. I can laugh again, make jokes and smile until the cold reality sets in and the murmuring of other unfinished manuscripts starts to terrify me all over again. It won’t be long, so I better enjoy this while it lasts. Maybe I should bake cookies for those people who love me. After all, they put up with a lot.

As for the project I just finished…Well, I’ll be talking about that in a few days, so stay tuned.


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