Something big happened this November:

I became a writer again.

It's always hard, after spending all your time writing, to adjust back to normal life. I was writing all day, every day, or at least that's how it seemed. Now that NaNo is over, I don't know what to do with myself.

However, now that I've been writing this long and this hard, I won't be able to stop.

See, I've always been a writer. Putting pen to paper. Throwing words on a page. Painting landscapes of the mind. Attempting to introduce people to my world and tell them my deepest thoughts and desires.

But somewhere along the line, that got tainted by the fear of failure.

I don't think I've really written anything for the past 2 or 3 years. Yes, of course, I've written things... but I haven't truly written. I haven't let my fingers fly or let the words take their course. I haven't really let my stories live. I've stopped after the first few hundred words. I was afraid to try because I was afraid to fail.

And then, this November, I realized that I can't really call myself a writer unless I write. If I'm serious about my writing career and my dream of sharing my words with the world, it's going to take dedication. Sweat. Tears. And a whole lot of patience.

And hopefully inspiration, if it will manage to stick around for long enough. 

My post-NaNo plans include finishing my novel, which has taken on a mind of its own. It's actually becoming real to me, and I'm proud to call it my own. It's not perfect, yes, but no first draft is. I just have to keep telling myself that (and maybe shove my inner editor in a closet while I'm at it). I'm at about 56,000 words and I still have a lot of plot left... too much plot. I'm going to keep writing, but it doesn't feel the same. I miss the rush of words as I try to finish writing my thoughts before bed. I miss the hype, the decorum, and the excitement. I'll keep writing, but it doesn't feel like a sprint anymore. It feels like a slow walk. I'm able to actually focus on the words, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. 

I admire you writerly types; yes, those people whose veins flow with inspiration rather than blood. I admire you. Because it isn't easy; writing a novel in a month. It isn't easy writing a novel, period. I know that now. But the thing I've discovered is, writing is hard. It's not for the faint of heart. 

But overall, we have to decide: is it worth it?

I think it is.