I fall asleep at night thinking about my unfinished projects.
There is a very simple reason why I have so many unfinished projects; I start too many. I love planning projects. Sometimes I start by measuring and drawing up plans, maybe for work in my home involving choosing paint colours and fabrics, maybe for alterations to the garden needing earth-moving and extensive plant lists. I like having several projects running at once, there is always something to suit my mood or the weather.
There is however, one unfinished piece of work that is now waking me up in a state of anxiety. I need to finish the first re-draft of my manuscript and send it off to an editor but I cannot be satisfied with it. It is like an iced cake; I had no trouble deciding on the ingredients and the cake looked nicely done when I lifted it out of the oven. I let it cool off for a while then put on a thin layer of marzipan to smooth over the tiny cracks. All fine thus far, but then came the icing, the perfect glossy finish to present to the outside world. It has lumps in it, it slides to one side and loses its gloss, it will not set firm and let me write “The End” on it in a confident, flowing hand. It sits there, unfinished, mocking me but I will not become unnerved or unhinged, my resolve is unswerving, unsurmountable. I must regain the upper-hand, it cannot remain unpublished.
“This recently discovered unfinished work had all the makings of being her greatest novel” sounds fine for an obit. “This unfinished work finished her” less appealing.