Heather Masterson

I’m this close to finishing the first draft of the second book.

I said that two weeks ago. And a week ago. And last night. And I am. I really, really am this close.

Except I keep not getting to the “finished” bit, and it started to feel like maybe something was wrong. Maybe I’m hovering at the this close mark because I’ve stalled out.

I keep pounding on the keyboard, which is good. Words keep coming out, which is also good. Maybe the problem is that I still don’t know exactly what the end looks like. The end of this bit, I mean – the end of the book has already been written (for first-draft values of written).

And really, that’s not entirely true, either. I figured out how this bit will end weeks ago. It’s just getting from here to there that I’m a little fuzzy on. Stuff is definitely happening, but the brain gnomes are illuminating this particular stretch one tiny piece at a time.

Part of my problem is that my brain keeps wanting to skip ahead. I’ve already figured out some things that need to be added, deleted, or reshaped in the second draft, and that creates a certain amount of anxiety. Despite the fact that I do try to remember to take notes when I have a definitely-for-later idea, I’m always worried that I’ll forget whatever-it-is by the time I actually need it.

Anxiety leads to the everything-sucks-so-let’s-obsess-over-it train to loony town. Today, I woke up utterly convinced that whatever tiny little piece of it that I might have had (or just believed that I had) has been lost. I lost it. That thing, that thing that goes vroom and makes the words go. That thing that makes it terrible and fun and annoying and crazy.

I opened up the draft in a state of utter exhaustion this morning and started to read back over the last half-page or so. Before I could, the last sentence that I wrote last night snagged my attention.

“Blood, viscera, and brains must be stored in sealed containers.”

Nope, still crazy. Whew!