This work is impossible. How can I possible get it done, there’s so much to do, and so little time.
Yes, I’m writing the first sentence of my book, but it’s going so slowly. There’s so many more words to go, and I don’t think I have them all in me. This is impossible.
Yes, I’m writing my first chapter, but I’m moving at a snail’s pace. There’s so many more scenes to go, so many more plot turns to come up with, and I don’t think I’m smart enough to find them all. This is impossible.
Yes, I’m writing my story’s climax, but it’s so thrilling, when I’m not. I don’t think I deserve to write this, someone more exciting than me deserves this more. Me trying to live up to my climax is improbable. No, it’s impossible.
Yes, I’m writing my story’s conclusion, but it’s so complicated. It needs to wrap up everything already brought up, and in a way that makes sense. Sometimes I stumble over my words and I don’t make sense, how could I possibly write an ending that makes sense when sometimes (most of the time), I don’t? This is impossible.
… Here I am, and I I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. I’m done.
It always seems impossible until it’s done.
Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela