This is more a musing on how weird writing can get than anything helpful or insightful to anyone else and probably myself. It’s just that I’m having one of the strangest hitches in writing I’ve ever experienced. Oh, I’ve had all kinds of  glitches, unruly characters, elusive plots, and stubborn passages. Plenty. This time it’s a new twist, an ending that won’t…end.

The bigger picture is a fantasy story that would be novel. I started out  intending to flesh out a cool dream that stuck with me when I woke up. Those are the keepers that make solid backbones for fully realized stories. I can remember the dreams that become plots vividly, even years later. The core stays the dream in pretty complete form, tweaked for clarity, with threads of plot winding out and in and through that core. Sometimes the dream part gets plot built around it, until the story catches up with it.

All that happened with the current dream induced story. It didn’t manage to become a novel, but settled firmly in novellaville. What I thought would be a minor character ran off with the thing and didn’t let go for ten thousand words. Then the dream part kicked in and got its time in the wordage limelight.

I was happy with how it progresses and, after eeking it out over a trying period involving my mom’s health crisis, getting sick myself for a month, having heat and car trouble, had the end in my sights. So I thought. I sat down to finish it. It wouldn’t finish. I gave it some time. It still wouldn’t finish. I wrote some more to really finish it. It. Would. Not. Finish.

After some time my brain had an info dump that stunned me. Without me being conscious of it, that story was tying itself into my other fantasy of that world. Cool and fine with me. I got another whole story plot once it had all settled. I thought that once the part of my brain that was busy with that was freed up, my elusive ending would jump out at me.


Uh, no.

I wrote what I thought was the last sentence. It wasn’t. That was what seems to be half of the last sentence. I have vivid imagery for that last sentence half, but not the exact words that will finish
it the way I want it to be. I thought I had it when a perfect handful of words popped onto my head just as I woke up, but by the time I was fully brainpowered they had slithered away. They weren’t right, apparently. The right ones stick, like the plotworthy dreams.

That’s where I am right now. Ready to proofread, start something new, switch genres, move on. I intend to get hold of those elusive words to go with my imagery, instead of giving in to the temptation to mentally wander too far from this elusive “The end” and leave it hanging indefinitely. Who knows? Maybe they’ll come to me in a dream.