the middle.

pair of applesWe’re only two, so there’s no middle. He programs, I write.

Sometimes, I don’t mind being in the middle.

• In a freezing car, give me the middle seat and squash me in there. It’s warmer.
• At a dinner party, put me in the middle of the table so I can hear all the conversations.
• I’ll run in the middle of the pack—let someone faster push me, but not get discouraged because I’m bringing up the rear.

But at the moment, I’m in the middle of my current WIP, and I kind of want to scream. I hate writing the middle of novels. My characters feel like they’re floundering. They’re doing whatever they’re doing, but all I can think about is what they should’ve done three chapters previous. At the moment, I’m writing scenes that I know are going to be cut, but I’m trying to power through to the end. Write it first, edit it later, no matter how painful, right?   The funny thing is that while I had the middle planned out—loosely, but planned—I have no idea how the end is going to turn out. I can’t wait to write the end.

Anyone else hate this particular middle?

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