This book will never end.
Really, never. I never planned on forty-eight chapters; how in the name of all that is holy did it attain forty-eight chapters? And there’s still a major showdown to go. Not to mention wrapping up individual storylines and figuring out if everybody gets to escape the forbidden planet. (That’s right; I’ve got a forbidden planet in my story. What have you got?)
I think I will die writing this book. One hundred and thirty-eight thousand, six hundred and forty-three words. That’s like, three novels. I know I kept randomly adding action scenes early on, because I thought you might get bored by my terrible prose, but I still don’t understand how it got this long.
I would really like to be done now, please. There’s just so much work to be done in the third draft—it would be nice to get started on it. And don’t tell me I could just go back and start rewriting now. I did that already. That is how I ended up with a second draft that has no ending. I thought I was nearly at the end in the first draft, and that was, oh, 55,000 words ago. That’s right—I abandoned my first draft without an ending, because I thought it was all over but the shouting, and ended up nearly doubling its length in the second.
Are plot lines normally this difficult to resolve? I mean, not figuring out how it’s going to end, but actually getting there. Is it my imagination, or does the action move forward at a snail’s pace once you get within sight of the finish line?
Most likely, my problem is that I made everything too complicated as I went along, meaning there are more loose ends to tie up.
Yes, I think that’s the problem. The complications seemed to occur so naturally; making them all come together does not.
Maybe everyone just needs to die, heh heh heh.
Just kidding. It will have a highly satisfactory ending. You will be glad you read through to the end. You will be recommending my work to your friends, and sending me emails asking when the next one’s coming out.