Okay, so… this is normal, right? That feeling when you start a story and you’re obsessed with it, like can’t-eat-can’t-sleep levels of thrill? It’s all you think about, ideas just pouring out, and every single word you type feels like pure genius?
Yeah, that happened to me. Thirteen chapters in one coffee-fueled, weekend-binge-writing marathon, and I was on top of the world. My story was alive, practically breathing, and I was right there in the thick of it, wrangling tropes and flinging plot twists left and right. It was… perfect. Until it wasn’t.
Because then the magic—the obsession—just… fizzled. I thought, “Hey, maybe I’m just burnt out. Take a day off, come back fresh.” But a day turned into a week, and every time I sat down to write, all I could feel was this annoying question: “Do I even want to?”
I mean, come on, the characters were fun, the world was big, and I had this grand, dramatic finale all ready to go. I knew exactly where I was headed, but suddenly, getting there felt like walking uphill in the wrong shoes on a rainy day with a latte that’s way too cold. (Yes, it’s the specifics that make it awful.)
The crazy thing is, it’s not like I don’t know how the story ends—I do! I've already drafted the final showdown, the perfect kiss, the "you-complete-me" moment. It’s all sitting there, ready to go. I just have to write the in-between chapters. You know, the chapters that actually make the epic ending mean something. But here I am, staring at my screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, asking myself, “Do I even want this?”
And that’s when I realized something weird. Maybe it’s not that the muse left. Maybe the muse is still right there, lurking, judging, like a tiny chaotic gremlin that dangled this brilliant idea in front of me, only to whisper, “Good luck finishing it, babe” and peace out. Maybe it's not that at all. Maybe it's just that I don't wanna. I don't wanna finish it.
So here I am, spiraling because I don’t know if I can muster up the energy to write the bridge chapters, the ones that take you from the magical thrill of starting to the glorious satisfaction of finishing.
I’ve come up with a "solution" (and I say that with heavy quotation marks) that involves a whole lot of hand-waving and calling it “creative choices.” Basically, I’m taking the last four or five chapters and rolling them into one chaotic “catch-up” chapter. It’s not cheating; it’s a stylistic choice. Right? RIGHT?
Here’s the thing though, and I guess this is where it gets personal (oops): I wanted to finish this story not just because I love it (when I do love it), but because I want to feel that I can finish. Not just end it, but finish it, the way I always imagined.
So yeah, if you’re out there and you’ve felt this existential spiral of “Why do I even want to finish this?”, just know that you’re not alone. I don’t have any profound advice. Just a “same,” a deep sigh, and a coffee that’s probably gone cold by now.
At least I’m finishing something.