I’ve almost finished the book. I’m struggling with the ending. Endings, I think, are important – as important as openings. And I truly suck at endings.
Paranoia is visiting today. “It’s rubbish,” he says. “The whole story doesn’t make much sense. The bits you’ve added take away the surprise elements. You sound too much like Terry Prachett – stop copying and write something decent of your own. Oh wait – you can’t because you’re crap! You are wasting your time, it’ll never get published anyway. It’s crap, as are you. You might as well just go for a sleep.” I just bow my head and try not to listen but hey, he is pretty loud today.
I don’t know where Confidence has gone but I wish he would come back. Up until yesterday, he had been doing so well, overpowering Paranoia with a massive goolie-kick. Confidence was my friend, we were having fun together. I don’t know what I said to offend the poor fellow but yesterday, he disappeared completely, leaving me with absolutely no motivation to do any work. He’s gone for a kip, I thought. He’ll be back tomorrow and we can start over. Everyone needs a break after all. But he’s not back, or at least not properly.
At least I’m writing today – Confidence must at least be peering in my direction but quite frankly, that’s not good enough. Paranoia here is growing stronger by the minute and waiting for the perfect opportunity to crush me like a bug, or pull off my over-inflated ego-filled wings off and laugh.
It’s all a bit pants if you think about it. Meh.