I turned 24 today.
Whooooot! It’s my birthday! Whooooot!
*end of mini-celebration*
Life is good. I have a job. I moved out of my parent’s house. I started a little freelancing editing business. I’m learning to be independent – paying various bills and such. But I thought I’ve have more, done more, seen more even, the path I’m on now is nothing like the path I first thought of when I was in college. Back then I figured I’d be almost done with graduate school by now, working in a little independent publishing company or book store, and on my way to becoming a successful author. Life changed, choices were made, my path spliced – even just slightly – and now I’m here, a different place that I figured I’d be, but happy nonetheless.
Just like my path spliced and I ended up on a different one, my NaNoNovel did as well.
I had it all figured out: the chapters, the characters, the emotions. The plotline was set in stone! (Or so I thought.) Until I got to the very end. Then it changed, completely. I couldn’t believe what I was writing, trying, imagining. People say that writers are the ‘gods of their universes,’ and I believe that to some degree. You can control what you write – who says what, who ends up with whom, where the story is going. But sometimes, sometimes, inspiration hits and you just… well… can’t anymore. Sometimes inspiration takes over, completely, and you end up writing something unfathomable and yet lovely right up until the moment the waterspout of inspiration dribbles back into the spring. And when it does happen you just have to go with it, don’t think, don’t see, just write. Revisions can come later. The alternate NaNo ending never crossed my mind during the writing process until the very end and, even then, the only thought skittered through was Did I just write that?
Don’t get me wrong. I am in control of the story. I can always hit backspace and write the ending I had planned. But I’m not going to, not yet anyway. I’m going to let this one sit for a little while, ruminate in its own plotlines and characters, and come back to it later. Re-read (and, let’s face it, probably re-write most of) the novel and see how the ending works. It could suck; honestly, it could be the worst flash of inspiration I’ve had. But it could be wonderful too, a perfect fit.
Here’s hoping for the latter!