The end is near. I’m working on the FINAL revisions for my fourth novel and despite being thrown a thousand curveballs this week about where this story was going, I can see the finish line. Because I will finish. Despite not knowing if I’m making the right choices or if the story is really all it was meant to be or if all of the hours and words were even worth it, I will finish this thing if it’s the last thing I do!
I’ve lived with this story for a long time and even now I doubt every page and every paragraph and even after I let go of this series for good I probably still will. Doubt. How many times have I talked about doubt? Not as often as I’ve felt it even though it might seem otherwise. But today’s indie gripe isn’t just about doubt but it’s about finishing. About knowing how and knowing when. Because let’s face it, when you’re on this journey alone it’s up to you to put your foot down sometimes. To say ENOUGH. This story is ENOUGH and so am I. Sometimes we have to be hard on ourselves, unemotional and unforgiving. Sometimes we have to make a choice to let something go even though we’re terrified of what will happen when we do.
I know for certain that this is the FINAL draft of this story. Whether it’s near perfection or not, I have to stop. I’ve been working on it since April of last year and I will not reach that one-year anniversary and still be picking at it. I will not allow myself to lose my mind in pursuit of something impossible. Because that’s what perfection is. It’s impossible. It’s not the pursuer who reaps the rewards anyway, it’s the finisher. So that’s what I’ll do. Not because someone is paying me to or because someone is counting on me. Not because I owe it to anyone and not because I’m contractually obligated. I didn’t write this story for any of those reasons and I’m not publishing it for those reasons either. I’m publishing this story for me. Because that’s the gift of being indie. I write for me. I publish for me. And every time I finish, I do it for the same reason. For that lone wanderer, carving and scratching and building things out of nothing for no reward other than the time spent getting lost in her own imagination.