Clawing My Way to the End

I’m within 30 pages of finishing my latest book. Possibly fewer than that, since 30 pages is just an estimate. When you’re this close to the ending, you can taste it. It’s just within reach….and somehow, for me, that’s the toughest part of writing. Each page is torture to pull out. I think it was Red Smith who said, “Writing is easy. Just open up a vein and bleed.” For me, the ending involves a great deal of blood donation. The Red Cross would love me.

But I think what it comes down to, is that you can’t fully plan a novel. Even when I “know” what’s going to happen in the end, often when I get there, the ending I had planned no longer fits. The characters don’t belong in that box. And no matter how hard I try to shove them in and make it work, sometimes another angle is the answer.

So, rather than drive myself up the wall, I’ve printed out the full manuscript and am going to look back at the beginning again. Perhaps reading through it all will help me find my sense of direction. GPS for books, anyone? I’m still on track for finishing the book, so hopefully this minor detour will help me find the focus.

My son had his t-ball game last night, and there were two moments that we thought were hilarious. He hit the ball nicely into the outfield and ran to first base. The assistant coach told him to go ahead and run to second. When my son got there, he glanced back, grinned, and started running to third. All the coaches were telling him to go back to second, but my boy kept on trucking, all the way to home plate (which isn’t that hard considering that most five-year-olds find it impossible to actually catch and field the ball). We all laughed and then he went back to second base after his “home run.” Then when the next hitter came up, instead of running to third base, my son got distracted by the other team’s coach yelling for the kids to go after the ball. Ever helpful, my boy abandoned his base and ran to go get the ball.

When I was in middle school and high school gym class, I was always in the outfield, mostly picking clover and ignoring the game. Funny how life pays you back for stuff like that. Did you ever have to play softball or baseball growing up? Were you an athlete or a clover-picker, like me?