I hate writing the ends of books almost as much as I hate writing the beginnings too. There comes a point in the writing where I, as the author, get bored. I’ve worked the plot out over and over in my head until, quite frankly, I’m sick of it. I’ve been at that stage with BHTS2 for around the last 15,000 words at least. In the last two days writing has felt like an immense chore. I’ve hammered away at the keyboard at the treadmill, desperate to get it done. So much so that I have written in excess of 10,000 words in the space of only two days – that’s not bad going. I am totally sick of the sight of this book and the characters therein.
Don’t ask me to write a third book in this series, because I won’t. At least, you cannot afford the amount of money that it would take to make me write another. I am now going to go off and write the book that I’ve been idly longing after for at least the last two weeks. I already have the next book plananed, and I would have rather been writing it than this for the last few days. Now I’ll get that chance I suppose.
That doesn’t mean that that is finished and thankyou-very-much. Far from it. That’s just the first draft. In around a month’s time I’ll come back to it and do a second draft. That isn’t quite so much of a chore. It will probably reach a fourth draft before I’m happy with it. Still, the first draft is always the hardest I find for any book.
I’m going to reward myself with a weekend off. I have typed something every single day on this book for around five weeks. I didn’t truly have a proper day off, because I felt guilty for not working. Now I’m done, I shall totally enjoy the party that I have been invited to in Preston on Saturday night. Roll on the good times, and here’s to the next book project: may I get sick of you less quickly than I got sick of this one!