What Does It Take to Finish an Essay?

What does it take to finish writing an essay—really finish it—so it can finally be submitted for editing and publication?

As someone who writes and edits at the same time, I’ve learned that overthinking is a hazard. When I obsess over sentence structure or polish language too early, I trap myself. The essay never ends. It becomes a technical puzzle, not a finished piece.

The Commute as My Writing Desk

Writing doesn’t happen for me in a perfectly lit room with a cup of tea. My thoughts begin while I’m on the move: waiting for a cab, on the train, walking to class. These everyday moments are when I ruminate.

I wake up early not just to arrive on time, but to watch a movie on my phone, read an e-book, or sit in stillness before class. After teaching, I go home and do nothing—and that nothing is part of my process.

So when do I write? Always. But finishing is different.

To Finish Writing, I Have to Stop Writing

To complete an essay, I must choose to stop the stream of thoughts that constantly generate new ideas. I have to pause the inner voice that narrates the lives of people I see in transit or dreams up dialogues for characters I haven’t written yet.

Standing on an overcrowded train, I might find the final sentence. The crowd, the coughing, the impatience—they force me to stop imagining and start concluding. If I let myself spiral back into reflection, I risk starting over and losing the way.

Editing: When I Switch Hats

To finish writing is to begin editing.

Editing demands humility. I must put aside the pride of authorship and ask, “Will the reader understand this?” I stop writing for myself and start writing for the Other. But to do this, I must let go first. I need time away from the piece. A day, a week—then I return with new eyes.

Editing happens in a coffee shop, away from home’s chaos. On Saturday afternoons, I escape the constant “wars” between my sister and her ten year old son. I ask the barista to lower the music. In this semi-public space, I finally read what I wrote. I assess. I edit.

Writing as a Nomadic Ritual

My writing lifestyle is nomadic.

I’m always moving—alone. Movement defines my ordinary life, which I’ve come to see as extraordinary. Meaning finds me in everyday places: a crowded train, a quiet hallway, a blank space on a bench.

But finishing an essay in a nomadic life? That’s harder. It requires stillness. A pause. A decision to stay put—just long enough.

To Finish Writing Is to Embrace the Unfinished

To finish writing an essay is to stop, breathe, and let go.

It’s to recognize that thoughts are transient. That stories are circular. That endings are almost always arbitrary. To complete something is to make peace with imperfection and mystery. Every piece I finish is a brief moment of stillness in a life that’s always in motion. Every finished essay is just a pause before the next beginning.