The other day I finished writing a book and gently placed the words “The End” at the bottom of the page. Then I sat for about an hour and stared at those two words. The story was over, the plot completed, the characters fulfilled their mission and it was time to end.

Yet every time I finish a story I have the nagging feeling it isn’t over. I know there is nothing more to write as my internal tank is now on empty and any further attempt to add to the story will appear as filler. Yet I can’t shake the feeling it isn’t over.

The reason for this is the wake I’m going to have to attend over the next few days.

  • It is a wake for the wonderful people who filled my life over the last six to twelve months as we wandered through the creation of their stories.
  • It is a time to separate from the ruthless killer who terrified my gentle lovers. He will be missed.
  • It is a time to lay to rest the passionate moments I shared with my romantic couple as they steamed up several pages with their sexual desires. They will definitely be missed.
  • It is time to say goodbye to Paris, Rome, New York, Hong Kong, North Korea, Cleveland Ohio, Miami Florida and a hundred other wonderful places I visited with these magnificent people who shared and created my life over the last six to twelve months.

It is a sad wake, yet one that must be attended when the last page finally reads “The End”.

So to all who ever typed “The End” and then paused as sadness seemed to crowd out the sense of accomplishment, I extend my sympathy. Remember this, there will be a day when you put your fingers on a keyboard or pic up a pen and then write “Chapter One”. It will be a wonderful day filled with hope, life and love. It is why we do what we do.

Any thoughts?

The End.

2 thoughts on “THE END

  1. I too find every ‘The End’ to be somewhat disconcerting; a necessary evil though it is. For me, The End only goes onto a work when I know that it has received the final polish. It’s almost a mental “Stop messing with it!” to myself.

    Yet there is an air of sadness to it. No matter the genre (and I go from farce to murder/mystery) the characters have lived, breathed and died through my mind for months. It is a little understood form of artistic grief.

    All you can do is know that they have played their parts well, and look forward to meeting new friends as you start to craft the next work.

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