Ever since I immersed myself in all things writing, I can't seem to stop the ideas from flowing. In addition to the two series characters I've been playing with, I'm obsessed with the concept of a dark and romantic stand-alone novel, and just last night, a fabulous young adult book was born - at least in my brain.
Which is where it has to stay. For now.
Part of me recognizes the idea factory starts churning when I'm in my zone - when the writing starts to gel, the characters come to life, the story almost writes itself. But another part of me understands the factory has a manual switch I "subconciously" flick on when I'm nearing the end of a project.
I hate "ends" - not just in stories. But in life, too. I'd rather suffer through a job I didn't like than quit. Pretend a friendship is solid instead of accepting it's long past its expiry date. I fear death, not so much my own but of those around me. Goodbyes are not my thing.
So as I near the finish line on a couple of projects, I have a suspicion I've employed the best stall tactic I know.
That isn't to say I shouldn't explore the ideas. And yes, I have written them down in my moleskin notebook. It just means I have to take (as my friend Rocky would encourage) a DEEP breath and plug through to the end.
And somehow convince myself that in this case, "the end" is a good thing.