Work on what you have and work on finishing it. Don’t start something new, okay? Just what you have. Finish it. No new projects, no new stories, no new material. Finish. Short, long, whatever, get things done and out the way. Enough accumulation. Too much accumulation. Enough. Work on it, struggle with it, get it done and out the way. Done. Move on. Next. No new things. All those half-finished, just-started, what-a-great-ideas. Get stuff done. Even this reminder, I mean, you could be working on that piece or that piece or that piece or that piece. It’s not like there isn’t work to do. Ignore the distractions. Ignore what’s pulling you away, buttonholing you. Don’t let it. Say no to. Say no to new stories. No to new projects. Go for what you have and get it done and dusted. Out of the way. Sorted. There is not enough sorting going on on your desktop. Sort it out, mate. Get it done. Dusted. Dust off what hasn’t been dusted off for far too long because you’ve been starting new things, always excited by beginnings, embarkings, the runway and the take off. Flight is fun. The thrill of beginning. Commitment issues. Commit to a story and get it done. Commit to a book and get it done. You’re very blaming. This voice, I don’t like it. Maybe there’s another way of going about it. Maybe there are prizes to be given, gifts to be received. Maybe you need that hotel room to get things done, or that time, buy some time to get things done. Maybe you need that walk. Maybe you need that takeaway. Get that delivery. You deserve it. Ugh. Very complicated.

What is writing if not finishing. Writing means finishing. Finish it before it finishes you. That’s what the coach says when we get to the finishing round. It’s called the finishing round because it’s meant to finish you.

But I don’t want to be finished, coach.

Things get easier when you realise there is no pleasure in finishing things. You’re not in it for the finishing. The joy is in the getting there. What they call: the journey. Ugh. The joy is in the writing and the struggling. Not the finishing. To finish is to say goodbye. You finish it and before you know it you’re the carer of the story that has been written (by whom?). To finish is to say okay you’re done you’re not mine but you’re mine and I’ll look after you and help you make your way into the world. I have your back. We’ll find you home. To not finish is to hold onto. To not finish is to say nunca te dejaré. To not finish is to say, mm, yes, I like this co-dependency thing we have going. But really, to be honest, things are always getting finished. A little thing here a little thing there, but when there’s so much unfinished stuff there is so much clinging to you, and boy, do stories cling. Finish me, finish me. Pick me.

So instead of finish something, I wrote this. Which I haven’t yet finished.