For the last month, maybe more, she’s been thinking about how to end EFFIN’ ALBERT. The climax eludes her so she’s tweaked what she’s written, added some stuff, cut some, revised . . . all the while lamenting. We know, we know–it’s taking its toll. Welcome to the wonderful world of fiction writing.
Meanwhile, her novel—now pleasantly plump at sixty-five-thousand-plus words—waits patiently for that last, big push. Watching her distress with this bemused expression: Now what, kk?
Granted, this novel’s been a bugger to write, coming to her in fits and starts, every word digging in its heels or fighting her tooth and nail; every chapter pulled out of her, kicking and screaming. Despite it all, finally, she’s coming to the end but once again, she’s stuck. Why is this so hard? She has some ideas for her ending; why can’t she commit, run with it, get the thing done?
She suspects she knows what the problem is: she’s putting big-time pressure on herself to write an amazing climax, a real “Wtf, holy SHIT!” suspense novel ending, one everybody expects, and nobody sees coming. TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD meets PREDATOR, maybe. No, THE LOVELY BONES, only way better because her bad guy’s really, really bad and he’s gonna get what’s coming to him. In spades. None of that tumbling down the hill to his death crap–this bastard’s gonna get DESTROYED and these two kids are going to do it, if they can survive long enough. One way or another, it’s gonna get ugly. Her novel’s gonna be an edge-of-your-seat nail-biter to the bitter end. Her ending is gonna kick butt, Innocence triumphing over Evil if those kids are smart enough, lucky enough; if that writer is savvy enough, brave enough. . .
Classic suspense, that’s what this is–Process and Story, building and building toward a dynamite climax, culminating in nothing less than The Perfect Ending.
All she has to do is write it.