Day Twenty-Three, Word Count: 50,003

And scene! Thanks everyone, for playing along with this crazy little experiment of NaNoWriMo I've been putting you all and myself through for the past twenty-three days. It doesn't feel fair that I wasn't struggling to get the last words out as the clock struck midnight on the last day of the month, but I think I'll take this ending too. It was actually quite a bit less predictable than the "did not finish" ending I thought was coming. I like a surprise ending. Done a whole week early? That's not something I do. I've been a procrastinator for as long as I can remember. All through high school, I'd do my homework with a season of Friends playing on the TV. I could tell you what I had learned and that Ross and Rachel were, as a matter of fact, on a break.

I think it's easy for a lot of people to not get the point of why I did this novel writing project. My dad's one of those people. He keeps telling me "Yeah, but when you reach 50,000 words, a novel doesn't just stop. You have to end the thing." I always make sure to thank him for this insight to the writing process—the whole 'ending' thing was a new concept to me—but even if I wouldn't end it, I'd have reached the point. At least the point for me.

I don't want to be a novel writer. I don't think my style works well in novel format, mainly because I'm used to describing things in as few of words as possible, and novel writing feels just about exactly opposite of that to me. What I want to be is a writer. I don't care if I'm getting paid for it. I've become a little more professional as a writer. That's the point.

I think it's a very "missing the forest for the trees" sort of situation. It wasn't what I was writing. It was that I was writing. I didn't think it was something I enjoyed doing anymore. I thought I was a twenty-three year old burn out who'd never write a single thing again. I've given up on more scripts and blogs than any of you know about.

But now that I've spent a month writing, I know that I can spend another month writing. And after that, I could write again for a month. Isn't that worth so much more than finishing a novel that I can guarantee you is 50% worthless? I didn't gain 200-odd pages of material to show off. I gained the ability to believe in myself as a writer again.

And that, my friends, is the point.

A last Most Ridiculous Line Thus Far before this blog moves onto other topics - “You didn’t shoot me?” Knox thanked her silently with eyes that would make a sad puppy dog look like a happy, carefree gopher. Why he chose a gopher was beyond him, but he can’t imagine they had many more cares than not dying, and since he had accomplished just that a few seconds ago, he thought it was a good example.