You’re closer than ever to finishing your book—but suddenly, every word feels heavier. Sound familiar?
Yesterday, I had a heart-to-heart with a client who's struggling to finish his book's first draft, and it got me thinking about all the other times I've had heart-to-hearts with writers struggling to finish their first drafts.
If you're nearing the end of a first draft, I want you to understand that you're not alone. There's a peculiar kind of pressure around it, the characteristics of which I'm bucketing into pressure to be perfect, fear of judgement, loss of momentum, or uncertainty about what comes next.
Fear of Imperfection
Two days ago, I received the following enquiry through my website:
"I am currently writing a book but am not yet ready for a book coach yet. I want to finish a goodish first draft first and then polish it. Worry that the finished product won’t match the vision."
There are, I suspect, two things going on here: Fear of imperfection and fear of judgement (I'll come on to fear of judgement next).
If you ever watched the British sitcom, 'Allo 'Allo!, then you'll recognise the following phrase:
So, listen very carefully...
There’s no such thing as a perfect draft—not even the ones that end up on bookshelves.
What your draft does have to be is good enough:
Good enough to send to a book coach or editor.
Good enough to send to a literary agent or small press.
Good enough to send to a commissioning editor.
Good enough for a reader (your ideal reader, not just anyone) to buy and enjoy.
As a book coach, I'm looking at the big picture, so I'll make note of inconsistent style and incorrect grammar, sure, but I'm much more interested in, and trained to look for, the fundamental storytelling aspects like whether the story has one clear point and purpose, there is narrative drive, and the characters have a desire and something (internal and/or external) standing in their way of getting it. Are the emotions on the page? Is the writer creating scenes and showing, not telling? Is the writer showing the consequences of their decisions (cause-and-effect trajectory)?
That's my job. No, it's more than that—that's the stuff I'm interested in.
Coaches and editors see past the small stuff and shake out the larger issues. We understand that there's no point in a writer tinkering with a chapter after chapter if those chapters might be destined for a radical overhaul or cut completely.
As an aside, the potential client's worry that their finished product won't match their vision is a good sign, potentially. It shows two things:
This writer is reflecting on their work and has a level of taste. And that taste might have developed over the time they've been writing. Something, on some level, isn't quite as good as the books they're reading. This is a good thing, because writing something that's just a little out of your skillset, and reading quality books, forces you to reach higher and improve your writing.
Writers instinctively know what's wrong with their work even if they can't articulate it. I've lost count of the times I've coached a client to the point when everything suddenly unlocks for them and they're able to describe what's not working seconds before I'm about to say the words myself. It's GLORIOUS.
Fear of Judgement
I'm one of those old fogeys who think that the word 'anxiety' is thrown around far too much these days*, but I'll concede that sharing your work with others, and facing criticism, can be an anxious time.
But consider this, publishing professionals understand this. That doesn't mean that you won't be hurt at times—I was once eviscerated by someone who took exception to me using the word "painting" when I should have used the word 'portrait'—but we're not in the business of crushing dreams with a careless swat of the hand. We want you to succeed.
As a writer, it can be hard to separate yourself from your work. It's not like turning in a report at work, there's an intimacy between the writer and the written that no one outside of publishing understands. And that's okay. We can't expect them to get it, but creative people, and those who work with them, do get it.
Yes, we want encouraging reactions from agents, editors, and readers—and that's natural. Just don't let that stop you from getting the feedback you need. I promise you, the more often you seek the feedback, the more you get used to it and appreciate the value it offers.
Doubt doesn't mean the story is flawed—it means you care.
(Oddly enough, just as some clients feel sick to their stomach sending me their work, I used to feel the same when sending them my feedback, no matter how thorough and compassionate I've been.)
* I swear, if I read one more teen romance with a Taylor Swift-obsessed, anxiety-ridden main character, I might need a break myself.
Loss of Momentum
By the time writers near the finish line, they've spent months (or years) crafting characters, building worlds, and solving countless plot problems. Long-term creative effort can melt your mind as well as lead to emotional exhaustion—and it's natural for your brain to resist even more work when it feels drained.
For all that writers talk about dreading the 'muddy middle', my observation is that the middle of a book can feel easier than the end. That’s where characters evolve, conflicts deepen, and the story feels full of possibility. But the ending requires resolution—tying up loose ends, delivering emotional payoffs, and staying true to the story’s promise. And that's the pressure I see slowing writers down.
By the final chapters, writers usually start to question whether the story works at all. They worry about plot holes, pacing, or whether readers will care about the ending. This doubt can make them hesitate to move forward. This is why it's important to have ironed out as much as you can—I actually get my Story Development clients to write their final chapter—and still have some room to play.
Life gets in the way. The client I spoke with yesterday has just moved home, has a houseful of workmen, and is just about to jet off for a well-deserved break. It's not that he doesn't want to finish his story, but that he doesn't have the time or energy to focus on his writing. And that's okay, just as long as it doesn't drag on into weeks and months of inactivity.
The goal is to finish, not to perfect.
Plus, for many writers, what once felt fresh and exciting now seems a bit, dare I say it, boring. We creatives love the thrill of the new.
Fear of ‘What’s Next’
While writing “The End” should feel like a triumph, it can also stir up uneasiness about what to do next.
We've already covered the fear of sharing the work, but there's also the fear of revision and editing. The thought of tearing apart hard work, fixing plot holes, or refining prose can feel overwhelming. The first draft is messy but it's safe. Revising forces writers to confront flaws and make hard decisions.
But it's an opportunity to deepen the story, tackling the big stuff first—and seeing the payoff.
Remember that not everyone will love your book, but someone out there needs it.
And then there's this weird fear of success. What if the book does succeed and brings new pressures, like marketing, public speaking, or writing the next book? Success can be as intimidating as failure because it brings unfamiliar challenges. It's one thing if you're writing a non-fiction book to support your public speaking career—it's something very different for a shy, bookish person to be thrust into the spotlight to talk about their debut novel, Vampire Cats From Outer Space.
Right now, their job is to finish the story—not to control how it’s received. Publishing and marketing are future steps. You don't have to solve everything at once.
Then there's the fear of letting go. For many writers, their book becomes a major part of their life. Finishing means letting go of the world and characters they’ve lived with for so long. That sense of loss can make it hard to move on.
As Patsy in Absolutely Fabulous once said, "Cut the cord, darling!".
Besides, finishing the draft isn’t the end—you’ll return during revision.
Questions to Ask Yourself
If you're feeling it difficult to finish your first draft, here are a few questions I use with struggling clients:
“How are you feeling about the book right now with everything else going on?”
“What’s been the most overwhelming part for you lately?”
"Is there anything in particular weighing on your mind about finishing the draft?”
“Can you remind me where you left off in the draft? What feels most exciting or most challenging about the next part?”
“What originally inspired you to write this book, and what are you hoping to feel once it’s finished?”
"What’s been getting in the way of writing lately—time, energy, focus?”
“Would breaking things down into smaller tasks help you move forward right now?”
“What’s one small step you feel comfortable taking?”
“Would setting micro-goals (like finishing a scene or reviewing a few pages) feel more manageable?”
“How can we adjust your writing plan to fit around your current schedule without adding pressure?”
“Would it help if we checked in briefly after a while to see how you’re feeling and adjust the plan if needed?”
“What kind of support would be most helpful for you right now—accountability, brainstorming, or just space to vent?"
These questions help me understand what clients needs emotionally and practically while guiding them toward finishing their draft in a supportive, low-pressure way.
Final Thoughts
I want to reassure you that struggling to finish doesn’t make you any less of a writer, and a finished draft can be improved, but an unfinished one can’t.
If you’re wondering how my client and I left things, he’s going to break out his son’s action figures, block out the big finale, and sketch the scenes like they’re shots in a movie. He’s choosing to play rather than perfect, and right now, that’s exactly what he needs.
You might need the same. Maybe it’s time to shake off the pressure and reconnect with the joy of storytelling. Whether that means outlining your ending on sticky notes, acting out scenes, or simply allowing yourself to write a messy, imperfect conclusion—do whatever helps you turn the page and finish.
Because finishing your book isn’t the end of your writing journey. It’s the beginning of bringing your story to life. And you owe it to yourself to reach that point.
So, take a breath, loosen your grip on perfection, and find a way to play your way to the finish line. You’ve come this far. You can go the rest of the way.