I'm within five pages of my projected end. I know exactly what is supposed to happen and how it will happen. At long last, a finished draft is so close I can smell it.
But why won't my fingers type anymore??
Been moving at a brisk pace all weekend despite the blistering heat and an air conditioner that doesn't work quite as well as I could have hoped for. I got a solid three hours of writing in this afternoon and I should be happy with the number of pages I finished, but... five more and I'm done. I just want to barrel on and kill this damn thing, but I'm afraid I might be worn out for the night.
The plan is to head to the living room, lay on the couch with a cold beer and try to find something brainless like Cops or Die Hard With A Vengeance to watch. Chill out a bit. Decompress. Recharge.
Then I'm going to end this son of a bitch.
