Nothing to do with the wars. At all. Except that I might’ve called it again. Oops. Never mind, that’s how we roll. I know things and I hope they don’t eventuate.
(Also, I literally have a pantry full of canned food and so forth. 16 can’s of baked beans doesn’t look so obsessive now, does it?)
Anywho, that’s not what the end I’m talking about is.

The end of the first draft of [Foxtrot Foxtrot Sierra] is looming. The last week or so have been full on when it comes to writing. (Please excuse my brain, it’s been busy as. I might miss a few things because I’m still thinking about how this story is coming together.)

It’s fun, this part … most of the hard stuff is done … the end should write itself, kinda. As much as it can anyway. In saying that, it probably won’t even try and I’ll have to do all the work. You cannot trust words to pull themselves together alone. *Shakes head*

It occurred to me, when I saw 84K pop up as the word count when I stopped for the day, that I haven’t so much as toyed with a logline or any taglines for this story. I do have a cover. I’ve had it for quite sometime but I’ve only shown it in notes on Substack and that was just the other day. Apart from the title there hasn’t been a lot of anything surrounding this one. Why? No clue. Just hasn’t.
It could be that this last few months I’ve been busy giving away prize packs and being a kind generous person? Or maybe I just don’t want anyone to know what this book is about?
Guess you’ll find out eventually, huh?

I’d kinda like to have this done this week. We’ll see. But the ending or the writing of the words ‘The End’ do weird things to my brain. It’s like a void opens up where the story used to be. Even though, it’s not actually finished. It’s a ‘first draft’ and it’ll be tweaked and revised and whatnot (and then my beta readers read it and then my editor gets involved) but writing those two words, they kinda take the story away. Like an eraser of sorts. It’s no longer just mine. It exists outside me for the first time. Right up until I write ‘The End’ it’s still my own playground, no one has read it, no one has input (barring the occasional request for a name or job description off friends), no one knows what happens or why but one day soon … it won’t be mine and mine alone anymore.
24 times previously, I have written the words ‘The End’ on works longer than a *short story and each time has been weird. But only as I approach the 25th time, have I worked out why. 🙂 🙂
I thought it was because I missed the process and the characters. And writing a novel is hard work so it’s mentally draining.
It’s not. It’s that it’s not mine and mine alone anymore.

*I don’t know how many short stories I have written. I seriously do not know. It’s probably triple digits by now. They don’t have the same effect – I’m not with them long enough.

Here’s a Mastador and his Birman: