Every writer has scraps of stories lying around. Half-started drafts, notebooks full of beginnings, that one chapter you wrote years ago that you still kind of like. I’ve got folders of the stuff. Ideas that caught fire for a few days and then fizzled. Stories that seemed like the best thing I’d ever come up with until I tried to actually write them. And that’s fine—most writers I know have the same trail of fragments behind them.
But here’s the truth: the first time you actually finish something, a full story, beginning to end, it changes everything.
It doesn’t even need to be a good story. It doesn’t have to be clever or groundbreaking. It probably won’t be. But it’s complete. And that feeling of typing “The End” for the first time is like nothing else.
The Trap of Perfect Beginnings
When you’re just starting out, it’s so easy to fall into the trap of polishing your first page until it gleams. I know writers who rewrite openings endlessly, convinced that if they can just nail that first sentence, the rest of the story will fall into place. Spoiler: it doesn’t work like that.
You can spend years tweaking a single paragraph and never get anywhere. And all you’re left with is this shiny little fragment that doesn’t connect to anything. It feels like progress in the moment, but really, you’re standing still.
Finishing something teaches you the part of writing that craft books and workshops can’t. It forces you to keep moving forward—even when the middle feels like a swamp, even when you hate every word, even when you’re sure you’ll never figure out the ending.
And that’s where the real learning happens.
My First Finished Story
The first story I actually finished wasn’t brilliant. It wasn’t even especially original. I can see the clichés now, the clunky dialogue, the way the ending sort of collapsed in on itself. But it existed. It had a beginning, middle, and end, and it lived outside my head, on paper.
That was the breakthrough. I suddenly understood that a finished story, flawed though it was, taught me so much more than dozens of abandoned ones.
That lesson has stuck with me. As I mentioned in a previous blog, some of the stories in Short Sharp Shock were born from this stubbornness to just get to the end, no matter how messy the draft was. “I Wish I Were Dead” and “Per Chance to Dream,” for example, started life as sprawling ideas for full novels. I thought they had to be big, ambitious projects. But when I forced them to the finish line as short stories instead, they came alive in a way they never did as novels.
That never would have happened if I hadn’t learned the value of finishing.
Why “The End” Feels So Different
The first time you finish a story, something clicks. It’s not about pride in the words (although there is that). It’s about proving to yourself that you can push through. That you can wrestle with the tricky middle, fumble through the doubts, and still land somewhere.
It changes how you look at writing. Suddenly, blank pages don’t feel quite as terrifying. You know you can do it, because you’ve done it once. And once is all it takes. That first “The End” is proof that the others are possible.
It’s a confidence thing. And honestly, confidence is what so many new writers lack. We all think the people publishing books have some magic we don’t. But really, they just kept going when the story felt impossible, and they didn’t stop until it was done.
Finishing vs. Perfecting
Here’s the thing most new writers don’t realise: perfection doesn’t exist in a first draft. You’re not aiming for brilliance. You’re aiming for completion. You can’t edit what you don’t have, and half a story will never teach you the same lessons as a full one.
So if you’re just starting out, don’t worry about writing something incredible. Write something finished. Even if it’s scrappy. Even if it makes you cringe. Because the act of finishing is what makes you grow.
You’ll write better stories later. You’ll rewrite that first one. You’ll learn pacing, character, rhythm—but only because you had the experience of going all the way once.
Celebrate the First One
That’s why I think the first finished story should be celebrated, even if it never sees the light of day. It’s a milestone. It’s the moment you stop being someone who wants to write and start being someone who actually does.
And every story you finish after that gets a little easier. Not easy—writing is never really easy—but easier. You’ve already proved to yourself that you can do it. That’s enough to get you through the next one.
So don’t worry about making it perfect. Just finish. You’ll surprise yourself with how much you learn along the way.
And when you type “The End” for the first time, take a moment. Sit with it. Smile at it. Because you’ve crossed a line that most people never do—and from here on, every blank page is less scary.
Gareth Ellis - Author 