The morning after my coffee with Sophia, I woke up to a world that felt a little brighter. It wasn't just the warm sunlight pouring through my bedroom window or the fact that I had completed another round of revisions. It was something deeper—a feeling that everything I had been working for was finally starting to come together.
I had been on this journey for so long, battling my own fears and insecurities, but now, as I sat at my desk, the manuscript open in front of me, I realized I was standing at the edge of something monumental. There was no turning back now. I was close to finishing the book. The story was almost ready to be shared with the world.
And yet, as exciting as that was, I still found myself staring at the blinking cursor on my screen, my thoughts racing. The pressure I had been feeling seemed to build with each passing day. The closer I got to the end, the more I questioned if I was truly ready for this. Was I strong enough to handle the attention that would come with publishing? Would people connect with the story the way I hoped they would?
I had made it through so much already—my failed engagement, the scam, the emotional rollercoaster that came with healing—but what if this wasn't enough? What if I failed?
I rubbed my temples, trying to quiet the chaos in my mind. I was so close. And yet, the closer I got, the more fragile I felt. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the anxiety.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed on the desk. It was a message from my agent, and I nearly jumped out of my chair when I saw it. She had responded to the latest draft of my manuscript. My heart raced. Was this it? The final feedback before we moved to the next step?
I clicked the message open.
"Great job on the latest revisions. I think we're almost there. You've really brought your characters to life, and the pacing is much stronger. But I think we need to dig a little deeper into your protagonist's emotional arc in the final chapters. The ending has to hit harder."
I read the message again, and then a third time, letting the words sink in. My agent was happy with my progress, but the ending needed to be stronger. She was right, of course. The final chapters had been tough to write. I knew where I wanted the story to go, but the emotional weight of the ending had always felt elusive. I wasn't sure if I had captured everything I wanted to say.
I had been avoiding the final chapters for days, afraid of getting them wrong. The ending was where everything needed to come together, where the character's journey would be fully realized. It was the moment when the protagonist had to face their greatest fears and truly grow.
I closed my eyes again, imagining the final scene. I had already written it—well, parts of it—but something was missing. I needed to bring it all together. I needed to make it count.