Cross that Finish Line, No Matter What it Takes
By: Dana Marie
Tags: Writing, Productivity, Writing Tips, Creativity, Inspiration

why finishing your work is the most important thing you can do as a writer

Photo by Isaac Wendland on Unsplash

We all get a little starry-eyed when we think of our favorite works of art.

The evocative and tender stroke of a paintbrush. A sentence so gorgeously wrought you find yourself whispering it aloud, just to relish the sound of it on your tongue. Entire universes of the human condition at 24 frames per second.

These works of art are masterpieces, in every sense of the word.

Despite their inherent beauty, I’m often struck by something beyond the workmanship of such pieces. Beyond the aesthetics, beyond the themes that seem to encompass all of humankind.

I get excited about the fact that they ever got finished in the first place.

The Road Less Traveled, the Line Rarely Crossed

Some writers never get to experience the joy of finishing a piece of work.

They sit down to write and end up on Google, combing the web for distraction.

They sit down to write and then realize they have another dozen things they should be doing, and immediately get back up again.

Oftentimes they don’t sit down at all. They simply dream, and figure that someday they’ll be ready to pen their masterpiece. Someday they’ll find the right words, the right idea, the right way to tell their precious story.

We’ve all been “they” at some point. Writing is hard. If you don’t think it is, you might be kidding yourself. It’s not just placing words down on paper.

For fiction writers, it’s juggling a million things at once: characterization, the trajectory of the plot, subtext, effective storytelling, gorgeous prose that doesn’t get in the way of itself.

Non-fiction is just as fatiguing, when you think of the research involved, the metric tons of notes to look over, and the precision required to tell the truth of the matter in captivating terms.

It isn’t easy, friends.

But we all do it for a reason, whether that is the joy of writing, the need to tell a certain tale, to be paid for our work, or to simply hold a copy of our own story made flesh and blood, and pat ourselves on the back for a job well done.

Is that reason enough?

“Why Finish? Why Even Bother?”

I know I’ve mumbled those very words, closing my laptop after a particularly frustrating writing session. Sometimes it seems like it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Sometimes it seems like the end will never come into sight, that it will remain a distant point on the horizon: the closer I move, the smaller it gets.

It’s a well-crafted illusion, but one that is inherently false.

How else could it be that buildings are constructed, soaring to dizzying heights through the air? How else did the Great Wall of China and Hadrian’s Wall come into being? They didn’t just appear, fully-formed.

They were laid down, brick by brick, stone by stone.

We know this to be true, but aren’t able to see our writing the same way. It’s taxing on the mind rather than the body, and oftentimes simply lifting the “stone,” whether that is a word, a sentence, or a chapter, feels Sisyphean.

But that’s all it is. One plus one plus one. Every word you write brings you closer. Every idea you catch elevates your work to new heights.

There’s Only One Way to Finish…

and that’s to keep pressing on, word after word, line after line until the piece is finished and there is nothing left to say. It may not be a neat finish. It may not be pretty at all — it may be wrapped in a crooked and colorless and poorly-tied ribbon, with an awful cliche plopped on top for good measure.

But did you catch what I said?

It’s finished.

And once it’s finished, you can let yourself relax. The first draft is always the hardest part, because anything is possible, in fact, everything is possible. Once that first draft is down, you can narrow your focus.

You can go through, circling words to be substituted, phrases that can be refined.

You will see little diamonds glittering in the dust, the debris, the clutter intrinsic to the first draft process.

Rather than staring glumly at a blank page, you will watch, amazed, as seemingly disparate parts begin to align, as themes arise from the chaos.

As Margaret Atwood so succinctly put it,

“A word after a word after a word is power.”

Go write that story. Go tell the world what it needs to hear. Everything you dream of is waiting just beyond that finish line, and it’s growing closer and closer every day.