I have a secret. I think maybe two people know it already.

I’m going to tell you all right now.

I wrote a novel last November. I got the t-shirt and everything.

First off, no, you CANNOT read it. I really don’t know if I’ll ever let anyone read it. One of the top things I learned about myself when I wrote for my high school paper was that I do not like people reading what I write until it’s 100% finished and publishable and I don’t foresee that coming any time soon. I also don’t like rejection and the best way to avoid it is to not show anyone. I did give my sister the option to read it, but she didn’t want to (her loss.)

I didn’t write it because my mind was spilling over the edge with story ideas. I don’t consider myself a writer. I did it because I’m self-competitive.

“A challenge to write 50,000 words in one month? I can do that!”

There are some parts that give me secondhand embarrassment for myself. Like, what in the world was I thinking when I wrote that? Really? She rolls down a huge hill? Stupid. There’s a love triangle? Cliche.

Anyway, it’s almost November again. I don’t know if I’ll participate this year. I had originally wanted to write a sequel, but I have no ideas now. I kind of forgot what I had written about. I shelved the book last December.

I DID have a dream (about a dream) the other night that potentially solved all of the plot problems I had. It was completely unexpected, since I literally hadn’t thought about the book in over ten months. I don’t think it was a coincidence that it arrived only a month after I rediscovered my love for reading. I’m in the process of fixing all of that now, so hopefully when I’m done I’ll have an idea for a sequel.

Maybe I’ll be famous someday. If so, it definitely won’t be for writing. Like I said, huge hill. Ew no.

P.S. Like I said, you can’t read it. Unless you beg. But I probably still won’t let you.

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