My husband is in End of the Book Mode right now. I don't know if other writers do this, but it's something we came up with out of necessity. He writes fantasy novels, and at some point near the end, the story picks up so much steam, and he has so much of it realized in his head, that he just needs to keep writing as much as possible to finish it.
Through most of the book, he writes about two hours a day, five days a
week. In End of the Book Mode, he writes as many hours a day as he wants
to. He puts in three or four 2-hour shifts, and sometimes writes all
night. He submerges his whole heart into the book.
He feels really selfish, and doesn't understand what I get out of it.
I feel a bit like he must have felt in the delivery room when each of our
boys was born. All I can do is remind him to breathe, and witness as he pulls his world from that realm into this one. He points his soul
through a prism of fantasy and the stories that come through are real
and beautiful, terrifying and thrilling.
I get to watch. I get to be there.
I get to feel the power, the pain, and the redemption of closure. It's like burning through a forest, needing to breathe the fire until it's
like jumping off a cliff and waiting for deep water to appear beneath
I'm humbled to be present. I'm grateful for the backstage pass. I'll take the late nights alone and the early mornings with
the kids. I'll gladly get up at 4 AM to read the last chapter the moment it's finished. It's breathtaking. It's real magic at work. It's actually my favorite part of his job.