Click Click Click,
Click, Click Click Click.
I stare at the screen, wary of what I just typed.
Tap tap tap tap tap, I furiously punch the backspace bar.
"Hmmm," I murmur, "How do I finish this?"
I stare at the screen some more. It's violently blaring pale light in my dark and messy room. I haven't been out of it in days except for food, drink and restroom.
The screen displays my project. I rub my eyes and re-examine.
Word count, 97,018. Chapters, 40.
I slam my head on the desk. Think Sean, think! You're almost finished...
I remain silent, boiling ideas of different ways I could finish the last sentence of the last chapter of last book of my series.
I groan, and slide my arms across my desk, sweeping it clean of my clutter of notes, research, unused plots and characters. Then, it hits me.
"But could it work? It's so simple...but I have everything wrapped up, I don't need to say anymore....well it's worth a try..."
Click Click Click.
The words The End appear on the page. I glare at my screen, squinting, doubting. Then...
Yes! It DOES work! I praise, Ahah, I'm finished!
I leap in the air, yank open the curtains , quickly shower, shave, brush and dress, smack the print button on my printer and collect all the papers to the manuscript of the final book in my saga. The final book. In My Saga. And to think only a couple months ago I wouldn't finish...
Without a second to spare, I grab my keys and rush out the door. Destination, my editor.