The Inspiration of Confidence , Or, Conversely, The Confidence of Inspiration

I had hardly thought about my novel from last year's NaNoWriMo for nearly a year, but for some reason it surfaced in my mind the other day. Remembering a scene near the end, I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to read it. Thus, after writing a little more on my current NaNovel, I did.

Not only did it utterly absorb my attention and draw me into reading more than I had intended, but I was actually impressed to think that I had written it. There were of course a few things I thought could be improved; that, however, is always the case, even with my writing now. This means that my writing has reached the point where it is no longer improving at such a drastic rate, and I can be pleased with my work as a writer.

For a long time I have disparaged my writing, but that time is at an end. I have confidence in my work for the first time.

Now some might say that I should have discovered this a long time ago and it would have been more beneficial for me. I would not agree. The years in which I labored over my writing, feeling it was lacking and ever striving toward perfection, have not been in vain. It is through those struggles that I have reached the mountaintop upon which I now stand, and may look beyond to the higher mountains that I have yet to reach.

This summer of letting my mind lay fallow was not without benefit either. It made me realize how much I missed writing and allowed the ideas and the words to grow in more fertile soil when the time of growth came again.

Even as I realized all of this, though, I was afraid I should have waited to read part of last year's NaNovel until I had completed this year's, for after reading it I could think of little else. For the first time I wanted to revise more than to write, which was a strange feeling, as I have always preferred to seek out new stories and ideas.

Nevertheless, it turned out that the inspiration it gave me was invaluable. I was able to turn my mind to my current project and write onward.

I have now completed over 50,000 words on my novel and four days remain. The end of the story is at a distance still, but I hope that I may have time to finish it before the month runs out.

Some difficulties still remain, though none are insurmountable. The primary one is that I have many major characters and not all will live happily ever after, but I am reluctant to allow that anything will happen to them, whether suffering or death, or worse. I wonder if all writers feel this way.

Yet there is nothing I can do to prevent this from happening. The story must go as it will, and—unless I stop now— I will discover all their ends. I do not really feel as if I am choosing these ends and their choices leading up to them, but it is rather as if I am discovering these stories and recording them; that feeling is especially strong this month since I began my novel with no more than a single character and a single scene, not knowing where it would lead, and now I have a host of characters and a plot that draws me toward the still mysterious end.

Even though I recognize that not all can live happily ever after and I know that I tend to prefer tragic characters when I read, still I wish those in my story might find peace, for they are not strangers whose tragedies affect me not. These are my friends and their lives touch me deeply.