With the recent time alone and many snatched moments here and there, I’m drawing into the last couple rough draft chapters of the new book. This is fantastic, since I wasn’t expecting to get this much done in the first year of our beautiful daughter’s life.
It’s weird, though, because as I conclude each of the three POV characters’ chapters, I’m feeling a bit of hesitation that I doffed a long time ago in the book. I realized earlier that if I agonize about getting everything “right,” I’ll never get it done and it still won’t be perfect. Since then I have managed to put aside concerns about the quality of the rough draft in favor of getting it done.
But oddly these last few chapters there’s that sneaking sense that I need to nail it. Which is strange, since endings are among the harder parts to get right. Beginnings may be the only harder thing. That and middles. Well, I guess it’s all hard and expecting anything to drip flawless from my pen is unreasonable.
Besides, it’s not as if anyone will see this first handwritten scribble anyway. There’s a full round of typing and polishing between me and anyone having the chance to critique. So why am I worrying when I should be writing? Why am I not writing now? Oh right, because it’s time for bed.