The hardest part of being a writer was not the writing itself. While that could be difficult, it was nothing compared to the expectations you place on yourself. Always hoping for the best so your novel can sell. The sad truth is that writers will fail more than they will succeed. It doesn't matter what form of literature you specialize in. What you believe is great, creative, and superior to others who write the same genre as you does not mean the readers agree with you. Why do some books sell millions, while someone else's sell only a few hundred? It's a great mystery, but it comes down to luck.

Conan tapped the side of his typewriter, knowing he should be getting ready for bed. It was already seven at night and he was struggling to have the sandman come pay him a visit. His nerves were getting to him and he found himself anxious. No, not about his new sibling that would be in the world before he knew it. He's dealt with that news already by simply ignoring it until it became a reality. It was the tride and true method of every human. If you have a problem you can ignore it until you can't. Usually worked for a set time. Therefore, Conan was fine pretending he would be the only child forever.

No. His issue at the moment was the ending of his first novel. The final stretch some people call it.

Characters were built up, problems were made, relationships destroyed, epic failure, and a goal about to be reached. He's come so far in so little time. The tale of a lonely shy teen that learned of something he shouldn't have and tried to save the remaining humans. The great escape if you so will. On a planet far away from Earth with zero chance of having any inside help. The story wasn't meant to end leaving people wanting more. The majority of the loose ends were supposed to be tied up leaving whoever would read this satisfied but still left with questions. Ones that Conan would leave an open mystery.

Such as after the escape where would the gang go next? Earth? Why, it was conquered already. If they went back only hell would await them. The universe was large and getting to know the ragtag team the reader knew they would be deep in trouble soon in no time. It wasn't a matter of if, but when.

Earth was also a mystery. What happened to it? What's going on there? So much that could be explained, but no desire to do so.

Yes. Conan was suffering from a lack of motivation. Now that he was at the end he found himself lacking any inspiration. The scenes played out in his head exactly how he wanted them to. Except he couldn't press a key. It was too much work and trying to put the scene into a sentence that left him satisfied was not easy. He just felt like it was not worth it.

'What does that even mean? Why can't I write what I see? Is this the end?' Conan stopped tapping and leaned back in his chair. Piles of paper were stacked on the desk next to the typewriter just waiting for him to make some revisions. He dreaded going through that process but that would be easy compared to this. 'Is it even worth it? No, of course it is. It's my dream. So why can't I finish it!' Conan was pulling his hair out in his mind but in reality he just sighed.

"You're still up honey?" His mother's voice came from behind him. He was so distracted that he didn't even hear her footsteps.

"Yes."

Emily sat down on the bed with a small grunt. Her back was killing her tonight and she did not know why. It couldn't be the baby, it hasn't been that long. She made a mental note to go see her doctor later this month.

Looking at Conan slumped down in his seat she changed her focus to his project. The idea of her small son writing a novel was a shock, but actually seeing him work on it day after day, piece by piece. It amazed her more than anything else in the world. How many people could say that their child did this, and at such a young age? If there were any other parents out there like that, she could probably count them on one hand.

To make it simple, she was very proud of her son.

"What's wrong? Normally you'd be excited to tell me the next part you've finished."

"I don't know, I just don't feel like writing anything. I want to write, but I don't? Does that make sense?"

"Honey we all feel that way at times. Maybe not about writing but other things. Like that time I wanted lasagna and I got all the ingredients out. After taking it all out I just didn't feel like cooking it anymore."

"What did you do?"

Emily smiled. "Didn't you eat it?"

Conan nodded. The way she was talking he assumed this was a different time. She meant it was tonight's dinner that she did not want to make. No wonder it tasted a bit off. He just thought her taste buds were changing due to the baby.

"By the way you're looking, I guess you didn't enjoy it huh?"

Conan quickly raised his hands and shook them. "No! I liked it."

"I'm your mom, you can tell me it was awful. Your dad sure did."

That made Conan smile a little. 'He always tells you stuff like that, it's just the way yall are.' 

"He didn't mean it. It was fine."

"I'm sure he didn't, but I mean to have him cook for the rest of the week," Emily said as she crossed her legs. James hated cooking, mostly due to the fact that he was busy and came home late at times. He was the type that would heat up the leftovers because he missed dinner or was asleep when she finished cooking. Even when she woke him up after it was done he just went back to sleep.

"So we'll be having noodles and eggs all week?" Conan asked.

"Us? No! I wouldn't put you through that, just don't tell your father." She liked seeing her son brighten up. It made her feel better even if she was having a bad day. There was nothing in the world greater than seeing a child lit up with joy. "The point is although I didn't feel any desire to cook the lasagna, I still did. I turned my attention to other matters while my body went through the motions. Did it suck? Yes! But we still ate something."

Conan didn't think that applied to writing. He could not simply turn his brain off or think about something else. His fingers would go off and type what he was thinking. It was impossible to just go through the motions when writing. Wasn't it? He took a second to think about it and decided that it was indeed impossible.

"Tell me, what comes next?" Emily asked as she knew that talking about his story always gave him inspiration.

Conan instantly sat up in his seat. It was fun explaining his story to someone else. The conversation was one way the majority of the time, as neither of his parents really interrupted him. He didn't mind because they asked questions when they had a chance to. It was as if he was having a conversation with himself and they were just observers.

"Ryan manages to get the old ship started after a week of work. The gangs down two people after their last skirmish and now the entire base is on high alert sending warnings out all across the planet. Firefly sits down at the controls and feels alive again. It's her first time behind the controls of a spaceship and after not flying for five years she can't believe she gets this chance again. Although the crew lost people they also know it's only a matter of time before they are found and killed. They either fly out or die trying." Conan went on to explain more of what was to come to his mother. With each detail he told her he could feel the spark inside him come to life. He had to write it down, but when he thought of getting started the spark fizzled out.

"It sounds good, and you know what's going to happen. But, what comes next?"

Conan was confused. There was no next, this was the big finish. "That's it. This is the end."

Emily shook her head. "That's not an ending. It's just a cliffhanger honey. There are just too many problems they have to deal with after they make it out." Seeing the look on her son's face Emily continued, "They need more food for one. It's the main reason they escaped in the first place. Vivan is injured after the last fight and needs medical attention. They're in a stolen ship, so wouldn't the Surians come after them? The crew won't just be able to fly off and magically find solutions to these things."

Truthfully, Conan never really thought about it. The end seemed simple, escape so they wouldn't be killed. It was the most immediate problem but his mother was talking about the issues the crew would face after. Maybe he did it wrong, or the idea he thought was good really wasn't.

"So I should extend it?" Conan asked.

"It's up to you honey. The reason you can't write the ending isn't because you can't. It's because you know deep down that it isn't the end, it's only the beginning."

Was she right? If he was being honest with himself then he could say so much more. There was just a lot he could tell and so much trouble the crew could get into. Having people always wonder what sort of chaos they would bring to whatever planet they went to next. How far could they go before their luck ran out. If they would ever save Earth, or if it was even possible.

That was all great, but this was supposed to be a single story. Not an epic saga. Conan was left wondering if this was something he wanted to do, or if he should scrap the story and start on something else. No one besides his family saw it so it's not like it mattered. But seeing their faces, he couldn't bring himself to not end the story.

'There's never a bad story, just a bad execution.' Conan had to remind himself.

"I guess you're right," Conan said.

"That's good. Now, how about you hop in bed and I'll turn off the lights."

He was not going to argue, there was no need to. They spent some time talking and even if he began writing there was no way he would finish the chapter before his set bedtime. Also while he was talking with his mom the sandman paid him a visit, he was beginning to yawn. He'd finish the story tomorrow.