“…there’s a hormone secreted into the bloodstream of most writers that makes them hate their own work while they are doing it, or immediately after. This, coupled with the chorus of critical reaction from those privileged to take a first look, is almost enough to discourage further work entirely.” – Francis Ford Coppola, “Letter to the Reader.” Zoetrope magazine
I am at that place. I know the ending to the book, but am struggling to sit down and write it. I am taking time right now to organize, scrutinize and just plain figure out how to finish this damn thing. Half of this story has been written with wine and vodka; the other half with coffee and tea. I am trying to figure out my happiest medium. So, I am drinking vodka with shots of tea in between.
I want to finish the blog version of this story by my 40th birthday in September, putting pressure on myself. Then comes the arduous process of the editing and rebuilding of this story. I’m not sure if I have enough vodka for this.
Anyway, I will try to post as soon as I can pull it together. I know it’s frustrating for those who were following along and want to see what happens next. I appreciate your support and I am working on this train wreck of a family story as fast as I can. Well, no, that’s a lie. I am procrastinating as fast as I can.
Either way, there’s an ending in sight and you will be the first to read it.
Fabu-Fu**in’-lous. You’ve known the ending for quite a bit. Go!