I’m done–such deceptive words. Is the end ever THE END? We all know a story goes on after the final word. If I like a book, my pace slows, and I savor every word, reading at the speed of an inebriated snail [an escargot]. This draft of a new WIP doesn’t yet have an ending. The closets needed organizing [three times]. The university Mock Trial Team needed a kick-off party. Shell needed six walks yesterday and her toy bin reorganized three times.
As a painter, I step away from a painting when a chill comes over me. Seriously, the muscles in my upper body quiver. I sense the painting’s done. I walk away, pleased, ready to begin a new one–which reminds me of a lyric from Semisonic’s song Closing Time: “Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end…” Maybe none of those paintings are finished. Maybe their endings are only the beginning of a future painting.
Do y’all think we ever finish our stories? Similar themes, situations, places reemerge because we aren’t ever ending anything? Are we all end-o-phobic?
The ending of this new WIP is driving me batty. The end is near–it’s called a deadline. Maybe the end’s buried somwhere in Chapter 18. Anyway, at least the apartment’s organized.
So, how do you know when you’re finished? When’s your story over? What makes an ending, an ending?