Unlike a really good novel which reaches a stunning crescendo before sweeping breathlessly to the end, I’d prefer my final days of writing The Hushing Days to be rather bland.
A real yawner, as it were.
Just let me drag the poor weary bones of myself and my muse over the finish line and collapse on the other side of “Done.”
Drape a towel over my shoulders, shove a Gatorade into my hand and guide me to the nearest recovery tent and I’d be good.
So, please, if you have any extraneous drama buzzing about just looking for a place to, well, buzz don’t look this way.
We’re looking for flatline finishes only, here.
Oh, how wonderfully boring that would be.