Today I took a huge step toward finishing the second draft of my work in progress. I finished the main body and began work on the epilogue - with a goal of shortening the word count in it by about half. Reading it back, the epilogue just seemed to drag on for no real reason. I was attempting to convey a sense of the meaninglessness of time in the environment but, instead, it just came across as a boring trudge.
Really, it's about control. Authors want to control everything but always feel somewhat helpless to elements of the tales they tell. Characters love to take on a life of their own and defy our intentions for them. Control is such a fundamental thing that it can be extremely off-putting to feel like we are reduced to mere conduits for a story, instead of the master behind the pen.
Control is also a subject in my personal life these days. After years of being borderline type 2 Diabetes I recently discovered that I am now well past the border. Two weeks ago I thought the biggest issue the doctor would have with me when I went in for my physical would be that I was ten pounds overweight. Suddenly, I felt totally out of control over my body, how others would perceive me, and my future. It's been a frustrating lesson in learning how to turn off that button within my brain that makes me want to dominate everything in my environment and simply take it one day at a time.
Going through this is also tempering my approach as a writer. Maybe the characters do have a story to tell that is equally as important, if not more so, than the one that I intended to write for them. Maybe there is a time to surrender control and just see where the path leads. Perhaps I will surprise myself.
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