I'm happy to report I finally did it. I finally wrote a proper ending to A Fly on the Wall.
The final scene has been in my mind since before I finished the manuscript last summer. I knew how it had to end. The problem was getting there. I didn't have a logical reason to bring about the logical conclusion.
The other day I was winding up the second edit when I realized it had to be fixed. Now. No more waiting and hoping that I'd be inspired in the next pass.
If I kept my weak, happy, all -tightened-up conclusion in any longer I'd be tempted to give up and keep it. That would be wrong and stupid.
Action had to be taken. I had to fix the second -last chapter and rewrite most of the final chapter. This meant guitar playing and chew toys. I strummed for a bit and then bought some gelatinous fruit chewies that got me started and I finished with a toothpick stuck out at a jaunty angle from my mouth.
The ending's not perfect, but neither is it embarrassingly sewed-up and happy. It'll take some rest, and some strumming and chewing, but I'll one day have something to send out.
Here are two fresh lines from A Fly on the Wall:
"Just like the first time, it was over and done before Brelyan knew what happened. One moment he and Nick were about to say goodbye, the next they were in a small cage not sure what happened or who they were."
I'm reading Isabel Allende's The House of the Spirits (Dial Press Trade Paperback, 2005.) I saw the movie years ago, sometime in the nineties I think, and loved it. It made me want to read the book. I found it a short while ago and am so happy that it made it to the top of my TBR pile.
Two sentences I read:
"The Jesuit's index finger, which was already raised to illustrate additional tortures, remained suspended like a lightning rod above his head. People stopped breathing, and those whose heads had been nodding suddenly woke up."
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From the Department of Exceedingly Mixed Metaphors
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