So I'm about 55 days from a finished draft deadline. What does that really mean? Well, it means I have to write the damn ending, of a damn manuscript. I know, it sounds like whining, but it's not. It's an emotional time.  Like giving birth, realizing your child is terribly ugly, and tossing it into a pit until you can find some active verbs to pretty her up. 

My kid ain't pretty. Neither's my over use of clichés, the word damn, and a tendency to ramble on about things that nobody even freakin reads anyway...

But I digress, again, for like the twentieth time, it's no wonder why I can't finish this damn draft, damn there goes the word damn again, and isn't I digress a cliche, I wonder where that term came from, maybe Wikipedia knows, they know everything, soon we'll seek all enlightenment from them.... Oh, right. The original thread...the end of the draft.

What are my hopes and dreams for this project? What do I want my baby to grow up to be? In a perfect world, all projects would be born beautiful, with a sharp plot, and a nice beginning, middle and end structure. Oh, and a character that not only drives the story, but buys me latte's too.

So what do I got?

Shit. My baby's not only ugly, she's missing a couple of toes.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Maybe if I put on one of those little hats...

Nope. Still ugly.

How about I teach her to wink alot? Give the people adorable, and they'll forget substance.

Nope. As we all know, that didn't work.

So what now? How can I fix this impending disaster of literary proportions?

Oh, right. FINISH THE DAMN BOOK, and revise.

I don't have to be perfect. Not in a draft.

I just need to write.

And if when my baby turns out to be buck-toothed and smells like rotting adverbs, I’ll love her anyway. Because, really, that’s what parents do.  Right before they chuck them into the pit...