There’s a nice sense of…knowledge that comes at the end of a section. For me, anyway. My stories tend to break into nice large chunks that make perfect sense to me and provide much needed structure. And when I’m coming up to the end of one of those chunks the number of things I have to deal with slowly decreases until I’m at those final few scenes which basically write themselves in a trumpet-laden festival of smooth writing.
Then I put in a page break and have to start the next section. Which is all about figuring out which of the billion possible paths my characters are walking I need to start paying attention to. And that, compared to the trumpet-laden festival, is annoying. And scary.
Also I have the flu or a cold or the plague or the croup or scarlet fever or some such crap and while the fiction is still progressing I’m not really overflowing with blog ideas.
So here we are.