Home stretch
I'm nearing the end of book two. At about this time friends will ask, "How long until you finish?" and I always say, "I don't know," because, in truth, I don't know. It could be fifteen pages or thirty. The ending has to happen naturally, so it grows into itself. Oh man, that sounds hippie-dippy, but it's true. I can't just slam the words "The End" after any given paragraph.
Though in this instance, as with My Summer of Southern Discomfort, I find the end happens more quickly than I anticipate. That is, once I get near it I realize I can speed the action considerably and resolve things faster than originally planned. Good thing too. I'm on page 519 now. I'd like this thing to weigh less than two tons when I print it out.