Last year, I “won” my first NaNoWriMo, writing more than 50,000 words in the span of a month.
I felt as if I’d rekindled some old flame, reviving the feeling that I should be a writer that I hadn’t felt since I was in high school. When I was reflecting on the process, I thought I had just entered a new era of creativity, and that I’d be writing every day there on.
I was right, but also so incredibly wrong.
To this day, I haven’t returned to that story. For a time, this ate away at me. I was stuck between being unsure how to approach the second draft and convincing myself that I couldn’t start another project until I had finished that one. I felt it would be a disservice to myself and the story if were to do anything else.
Thankfully, I’ve broken free from that cycle. I know the story will always be there for me when I’m ready to return to it.
The desire to write lingered, even when I felt that maybe it truly wasn’t for me. I continued to jot down ideas, or write down a few pages of one (big thanks to Brandon Sanderson’s prompt journal).
Then, I was presented with a reason to tackle a full story again.
The Short Story
In September, my local library announced their “Fall Into Fiction” contest, where local amateur writers were asked to submit stories of no more than 8,000 characters.
The email beckoned to me. It was a chance to start anew.
This will be easy, I thought to myself, I’ll write the draft in a couple of days, then have 28 more to make a masterpiece.
It turns out that short fiction is the most difficult format I’ve tried to write in. 8,000 character is far shorter than you’d expect. We’re nearly to 2,000 at this paragraph!
I came up with a simple idea: a thief in a magical, Victorian city scoping out an odd estate inhabited by a “witch”.
My first draft of that story was nearly four times bigger than it was allowed to be. The opening scene alone was nearly 8,000 characters!
I struggled in the days that followed, trying to wrap my mind around how to shorten the story without ruining the fabric of it.
I learned that the real challenge of short fiction is in figuring out what is truly important to your story, and removing the fluff that surrounds and dampens it.
I realized I’d never thought about that before, and I also realized the same principles can be applied to longer stories. I can go on about the details of a knight’s armor or the way an owlbear heaves its chest at a threat, but I had never thought if they were truly necessary additions to a scene. In context, maybe they were! But it’s also possible that they could have been left on the cutting floor and the story would continue all the same without them.
I pored over the story, and then it hit me: the story isn’t about the robbery, it isn’t about the dour city surrounding the house. It’s about the thief and the witch, and how each affects the other.
When I decided on that lens, I found it much easier to cut things out. I removed everything about the setting that wasn’t about the house that stuck out like a sore thumb in this sad place. I removed all of the events that weren’t the thief encountering the witch. I cut and cut and cut.
Then I had an okay story in my hands, just shy of 8,000 characters. I don’t believe it was great. However, I don’t believe it was bad either! It was a good first attempt at a format I’ve never tried before, and it gave me so much more to think about when I’m writing other stories, no matter their size.
National Novel Writing Month 2025
As November approached, I felt invigorated by the short story, confirming to myself that I want to write.
So I participated again, and once more, I completed the goal, writing 54,000 words. This year, I came in more prepared. I wrote a plot, I planned my scenes, and when November 1st came around, I hit the ground running.
After the emotional rollercoaster that was The Mountain in 2024, I wanted to give myself an easier tale to write this year. So I chose to write a medieval fantasy story. My comfort genre, if you will. It’s what I love to read, to write. It’s what I know the tropes of best, and generally how to use them. I figured this would be an easy approach, and would give me a month of smooth writing.
Foolish, really.
Even in the planning before November, things spiraled out of control, until I was staring down a massive three-act monster, each one a novel unto itself. All I could think to myself was How can I possibly fit such an epic tale into so short a space?. I’d completely forgotten the lessons from September of distillation and cutting to the core of what a story truly wants to be.
Then I reminded myself that the goal of Nano isn’t to finish a story, but simply to write. I felt a wave of relief wash over me, and I chose to write only the first act.
At the request of my girlfriend, the protagonist of this story was to be a frog. I accepted the constraint. The Redwall books were a staple of my childhood reading, and I think writing anthropomorphic animals presents a fun challenge and plenty of opportunity for world-building.
I originally set out to write a gritty, serious adult fantasy. Two protagonists on opposite sides of a cruel world, driven together by an inevitable catastrophe caused by one and foreseen by the other.
As the words hit the page, the story softened. The good guys started to survive with a hearty helping of luck; the camaraderie took center stage over the consequences of failure.
While my ambitions were rooted in grimdark, my voice was naturally optimistic. So I stopped fighting my own instincts and let the story be the adventure it wanted to be. While part of me still wants to reshape it into that dark tale later, I realized that during the draft, my words were coming quickly and–dare I say it–effortlessly. I let the frogs be funny, and the words kept flowing.
The Days Since
Since Nano wrapped, I’ve been driven by that same feeling from last year. I don’t see it as starting anew anymore. I now believe that I have always been a writer, no matter the volume or consistency of my output.
Though, consistency is a great motivator. As of writing this, my streak is at a whopping 65 days.
I don’t need to explain to you the power of a streak, especially a visible one. I’m using TrackBear, which puts your streak front and center on the dashboard. Each day, I’m driven by that continuous sense of accomplishment. Though, I know I need to be careful about the sudden negative feeling that comes with breaking the streak.
I’ll admit, there have been days where I’ve logged less than 100 words. Even then, I’m glad I’ve taken the time to sit down and write anything, to keep the desire to write alive.
On top of revisiting last year’s draft and continuing this year’s, I’ve added more writing projects to the pile to keep myself going. The one I’m most excited for is going to be another challenge, despite its simplicity.
My brother is going to be a dad soon. One day, I had a sort of epiphany about the context around the birth and another story I’d written that I won’t lay out here. In short, I decided I should try my hand at making a board book. I would make a distillation of a story I enjoy, squeezing it down into a form for a child.
I’m talking funny sounds, a few words a page, and a simple to grasp lesson on life. When you think of a board book, it seems so simple. Though I need to remind myself, writing 100 words can be harder than writing 50,000. Each one has so much more of the story to carry.
It’s a new challenge, and one that I’m sure will fall into place. My brother has agreed to do the illustrations, and I’m excited to work with him on it.
Hopefully the next time you hear from me, I’ll have made a wonderful children’s book (and made progress on other things to boot).
Thank you for reading through to the end. I hope you’re having a wonderful start to your year. Until next time.