I feel like I’m losing my mind.

Or perhaps I’m turning a molehill into a mountain.

I’m suffering from indecision, one of those moments in a writer’s life where either you get on with it, take a holiday, start a new story, of finish another one.

I want to get on with it, finish it, sent it to the editor, and then move on, but I can’t.

Once again I’m struggling with the end.  Well, not so much the end, but the way in which the story unfolds getting there.  I have the ending written, it just that part that usually falls into the category of ‘then a miracle occurs’.

The first draft was supposed to be finished three months ago and I’m getting frustrated.

Over the last few days I have taken a break away from it.  Every time I load it up, and sit on the page where I want the end to start (a rather curious mix of opposites) it draws a blank.

Will I add a few explosions, a building demolition, or an edge of the seat car chase?

Will I let a few of the secrets out of the bag?

Will I try to set it up for a sequel?

Wow!  So many possibilities.

I know what I’d do if it was me, which begs the question of how much of ourselves is woven into the fabric of our characters.

I want the main character to appear more human against a backdrop of having to be inhuman in order to get the necessary result.  And, there in lies the dilemma.

Perhaps I’ll sleep on it one more night.