The End

I wrote the end today. The end of my first ever novel. Jesus.

I took a coupla days off to focus on it.

I’m not suggesting by any means it’s a completed project. It needs major re-drafting and there are lots and lots of holes. The approach I took was to write, write, write. Write all the bits that I want to write and any bits I didn’t have the heart to write, I left.

But it’s about 83,000 words, more than I’ve ever written in one go – in one MONTH!

It’s so so so true what Robertson Davies says: “There is absolutely no point in sitting down to write a book unless you feel you must write that book, or else go mad, or die.” Like I said, I was possessed by this novel. I HAD to write it and this is the only way I can write a novel. It needs to excite me; to obsess me; to intrigue me as much as any of its future readers (which will probably be, like, three: me, Bertie and my mum!).

I feel like I’ve discovered some dark wonderful unknown. The Holy Grail of writing. Something so obvious that’s staring you right in the face: the key to finishing that elusive novel is write. Simply write.

x

PS. Been reading a good agent blog lately. http://www.greenhouseliterary.com/index.php/site/sarahs_blog.