Sick and diseased here, how you doin'? Somewhere along the line of the holiday season I managed to contract some variant of the plague; this is what happens when I stop writing and go outside. It's rendered me mostly useless, but I have had a substantial amount of time to read some of those new books that I was chattering about last week... so that's nice. If only I could stop coughing long enough to get back to the gym for a couple lifts—now that would be grand.
Anyways, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not really sure when to end this book of mine. I have it written down in my journal, of course—‘end after this bit right here.’ It seems, though, that I keep extending all of the scenes that come before that very last one. All of the battles are finished, most of the stuff is pretty well resolved and all of the characters seem pretty at peace with the world(ish). It seems like a pretty solid place to wrap up the book but I just keep on going. It's not really as if I feel like I'm missing something; it seems pretty good... but write on I do. I like to write, or I wouldn't be doing it, but I really do want to be done with the book. It's not as if I'm only extending the story to keep on writing at it (there are three more books).
My best guess is I just don't know when to end the book, as the title of this post would suggest. When I sit down in morning to write, I just keep on writing until the end of the day without really trying to end anything. I suppose that I should just steer the book towards where I want it to end. My other books did it on their own, but this one wants to go elsewhere. I'll start yelling at it in the morning and with any luck things will work out. I’ve never had a book be this difficult to finish, nor go on for this long before; it’s always something new.