I figured out the ending on the elliptical machine the other day. I had been working on a novel at my desk job in the months and weeks leading up to our move now almost ten years ago. When we moved, though, I lost motivation to finish as the adventure of our new life threw my life into chaos.

But the other day, I began to think about it. The reason I didn’t finish it wasn’t because I didn’t have time, I really just didn’t know how to end it. I had created a character who deserved a proper ending, but I couldn’t think of one that did her justice.

The last copy of the almost forgotten document was on a computer from three computers ago. It was just the tower, giant CRT monitor, mouse and keyboard long gone. It was giving out on us slowly, but I didn’t want to get rid of it because I always saw myself finishing the story.

When I picked it up the other day, I was reeling with joy. I had been trying to work out the ending on a separate drive, but wasn’t exactly sure I could pick up where I left off. But reading it back, I’m worried it’s too cheesy, cringe-worthy, and worst of all, annoying.

I think that’s a good sign though, that my writing style has improved so much over the years and I’m able to see the growth. One of the last edits I did before I moved was to turn it from a third person story to a first person one. The dialog takes on a much flatter experience, sort of hackneyed so I may switch it back and see how it reads.

There were some other equally intriguing half finished works in progress. I’m less self conscious about those. I’m hoping to find a few hours a week to work on them. Maybe I’ll get bold try to get them published.