The plans were laid out but something was missing. You knew it and put it off. The drafts continued building.
The beginning is solid. It should be after so many rounds. The end, you have it all figured out.
It’s always the fucking middle.
The middle is the foundation, the bridge. The beginning gets the reader, and it is the middle that keeps them. The end must be satisfying, so it is the most exciting.
So you drudge through the drafts fighting discouragement. How is this going to work? Should I move on? Should I put the story down? But you can’t — too much invested.
And then, in an unexpected moment, a character appears. The story makes sense. The middle, at least in your eyes, is solid in a way it never was before.
The end is in sight.