The Home Stretch

This is what the last quarter of what my books look like when I am writing them.  Gone is the scenery that lived in my head for the last few months–it’s all about getting to the end.  When I get there, I will go back and paint in the trees and the rocks and the Findhorn River in Scotland, where my hero and heroine are currently lazing.

I don’t know what it is about my process that makes the first part fun but slow, and the second part torture and slow, and the last part very fast and very skeletal.  I wish I could write the whole book like this:  Get it down, then go back and paint in the scenery.  But I don’t.  I futz and futz and then run like the wind to the end.  If you see a dust cloud on the horizon, you will know it is me nearing the finish line.

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