Fifty three thousand words that is. And still counting. Still writing. In recent days I've passed the fifty thousand word mark for my latest manuscript, which means I'm now on the homeward stretch. It's a great feeling.
I don't think I'm alone in saying that there gets a point in every book where the author feels that the end will never come. The excitement of beginning a new book, the initial ideas, the inspiration has dried up; there are gaps in the storyline; the characters won't cooperate; and it doesn't look as if it will ever come together.
But it does - sometimes as if almost by magic - and suddenly the end is in sight. But it's only a small respite. Once the last word has been penned the agony is about to start: editing.
But I won't think about that now. Instead, I'll think about typing that last word and how that will feel after months of slogging away at the computer.
