A criticism of my writing, other than “letting go,” is the ending. I tend to hurriedly close a story, leaving frayed threads of character, closure or plot to sway awkwardly in the breeze. I’m not sure why I tend to end stories in this manner. I don’t believe it’s a loss of interest in the characters or story, or a lack of anything more to write, I just decide to call it good. Sometimes this method works, but the majority of the time it fails. What inevitably happens is I return to the story and recreate a new ending, taking my time to snip and tuck those frayed ends. But it usually doesn’t happen right away, I tend to take my time returning to the work, unless there is a deadline involved.
It seems this inability to “stick to it” is carrying over into real life. My real life. I’ve noticed I’m lacking in stick-to-itiveness. I can’t seem to finish one thing before trudging headlong into another. And I can’t seem to figure out why this is happening. I’ve always finished what I’ve started. Always. But it seems I can barely finish a simple household chore without being distracted into downloading music or reading a magazine.
Examples: I decided to reorganize closets last fall. They are half-finished. I obtained a three-tiered mobile storage cabinet to assist with my photo sorting and scanning. It remains empty, the photos still crammed into photo boxes I bought for reorganizing. I started a new work out program after weeks and weeks of research, which only lasted about three weeks before I began to miss a workout here and there. Now I’m lucky if I complete three workouts in a week (it’s a six days a week program). Plus, I’ve yet to complete the one month beginner trial portion. Of course, this all has carried over into my writing. My novel turned into three novels, all of which I’ve abandoned at various stages while creating three different blogs I can no longer keep up with on a daily basis, which was my intent.
As of late, the only thing I’ve stuck with from beginning to end was during lent. I gave up red meat. Although, I did knowingly eat a cheeseburger within the first few weeks, but it was for a birthday and the birthday dude insisted he’d shot off a text to the Pope to get clearance for the day, and besides, WWJD? I convinced myself He’d eat a cheeseburger in honor of a friend’s birthday. Wouldn’t He?
So my latest dilemma is my lack of stick-to-itiveness. When it comes to keeping it together and finishing what I’ve started, I’ve got no glue.
And just what is the glue? Is it ambition, motivation, need? I guess once I figure out the consistency of said glue, I’ll be better equipped to find an answer. Until then, I’ll have to resolve to make a better effort of finishing a book I opened a week ago, which sits gathering dust on my bedside table. Or finish transplanting seven plants into the new pots I purchased a month ago. Or rearranging the furniture in the living room.
All these unfinished projects make it seem as if I’d suddenly disappeared, was working hard then just stopped, vanished, whether it was mid-read, mid-move, mid-senten