Journey to 50,000 Words

50,000 words, they said.
Just write that many words in a month, and you'll have a novel.
It seemed a crazy thing.
Why force yourself to try and craft a brand new story within that short a time?
What would you get from it?
Surely not any words worth keeping, or a plot that could be easily navigated.
Or what if the plot ended up too simple, and all the words dull and flat?
You stayed away from the challenge for many years.
Each time the time for it came around, you stared at it, then shook your head with a sigh.
You'd never be good enough to succeed.
So why even try?
Then came the year were nothing you wrote seemed to be working right.
You felt stuck, and as if the drafts would never end.
The time for that crazy challenge was coming again, and this year you gave in to that bit of insanity.
So you signed up, before your sense could remind you at how weak you were.
As the time to begin drew near, you started to worry you'd made a mistake.
You were armed with only an idea, and some old characters just waiting to be taken from their dusty, unfinished story.
What were you thinking?
Still, you began with determination to see the challenge through to the end.
Your plan seemed good.
But then came days when your story slowed to a crawl, and each word was a fight to find.
Still, you were fairly sure you could do it.
Until you reached the story's end, and only had half the words you needed.
You fretted and paced, sure that this stone in your path couldn't be moved.
How could you continue on, when there didn't seem to be any more to the story?
Back to the beginning you went.
It was hard to resist changing the words you already had, for your mind screamed that they could be better.
But you resisted.
This was not about editing words already written, but about writing.
So you added a word here, a new sentence there.
Sometimes, you found places where new paragraphs would fit.
Even better where the times when new scenes suddenly filled your mind.
The construction of those scenes made your word count grow, and you started to feel more confident.
Maybe you could do this.
But then you fell behind.
You weren't reaching your daily goals, and the distance between where you were and where you should be was growing into a gaping chasm.
But you didn't want to fail.
To fail in this challenge might be the final blow that crushed you.
So late into the night you would type, pounding word after word.
You raked your mind for any idea, anything that could be added into your story.
Anything that would make some sense, you insisted.
For what was the point in compiling meaningless bits that didn't tell a story?
That wasn't what you wanted.
You pushed on.
Always aware of the lingering doubts lurking at the back of your mind, you wrote.
As the final days arrived, you became frantic to finish.
On the last day, you cheered a little victory song each time the number of words left to write diminished.
You could do this.
You would do it.
It wasn't for fame, or to satisfy another's thirst for a story.
It was for you.
Then came the end.
Your challenge was over.
Each word that had soared high above your reach in a distant, unapproachable galaxy had been coaxed down the Earth.
You did it.
The challenge was won.
And those lingering doubts that said you shouldn't even try?
They've been silenced.
At least for a little while.
But now you knew what you could do.
And the next challenge wouldn't seem as daunting when it arrived.