I've been working on a short story for over a month and a half now. This is not like me. I mean, I usually work really quickly (and that was even before becoming a mom), but now I'm finding more enjoyment from taking my time.
Problem is, I really need to wrap it up, and I'm almost there. But the ending is killing me. In so many ways I feel like I'm supposed to have SOME BIG MEANING at the end here. And I do, actually. But I'm concerned about making it too, well, "Meaningful."
So, I've been sitting on it for about a week. Contemplating. Worrying. Fretting.
I think I'll just do it. Let the cards fall where they may.