I had such high hopes on November 1st. Hopes for bursts of inspiration. Hopes for daily writing. Hopes for a complete draft of the novel I have been struggling with all year.
Then I had middling hopes. Hopes that I could manage to pull the great ideas I have for this book a little closer. Hopes that the plot would come together somehow. Hopes that I could hit the voice I’ve been aiming for, that I could nail the characters that I know are in there, that I could find the funny and maybe-kind-of sad story that seems to be hovering just out of reach.
Near November 28th I had low hopes. Hopes for just a few more sentences. Hopes for just a single word that sounded real and true and maybe kind of close to the thing that’s been living in my head.
And at the end I had desperate hopes. Hopes for a magical burst of inspiration and clarity. Hopes for a visit from the genius Elizabeth Gilbert mentions in her Ted Talk. Hopes for a whirling dervish of words and ideas that would spin this novel into its possible self – full and complete, and well, just a little bit wonderful.
The genius never showed – or rather, the genius showed – just not in the cobbler’s elves way I had hoped for. So instead of 50,000 incredible, magical words, I ended up with around 20,000 words and several pages of notes that together I think might lead to a complete – and maybe even good – new novel.
So, I failed NanoWriMo. But my NanoWriMo failure – though painfully real – ended up being a bit of an win for my new book. Not an easy fairy dust kind of win. Not by a long shot. But maybe one that’s a bit inspired – the way something built and torn apart and built again is somehow made better by the sweat and tears and little bit of blood required to create it.
At least that’s my hope.