A little over a month ago I was filled with excitement, confidence, and even arrogance. I was signed up for nanowrimo and was all set to crank out my book. I had the plot. I had the notes. I was ready. The month started out great and I was making huge strides. Checking with the calculator, I was set to meet the goal well ahead of the deadline. I felt amazing. Then something happened. I don't even know how to explain or define what that might have been. It wasn't being distracted by working on other projects at the same time. If anything that helped me get more accomplished. It wasn't daily routine getting in the way-I don't do anything else. I honestly don't know what to say other than I just started having doubt and letting fear creep into my mind. I began to question if I could get it done and if I could would it be any good. I am a writer, nothing I write is ever good enough. That doesn't mean I don't like my work or feel it is worth reading. I just mean that I will always see where it could have gone and how I failed to translate the story in my mind properly onto the page. What I did lose was my patience. I wanted the book done. I wanted the words to fly from my mind through my fingers and onto the screen. That didn't happen and I became frustrated. The closer it got to the end of November and the deadline to finish nanowrimo the more dejected I became. The more down I got over my writing the easier it became for old demons to push their way back into my mind. I would lose myself in my own mind for way too long and it became a burden to my friends and roommates. This was not acceptable. I no longer am alone and I don't need to define myself by my daily word count. My best friend beat me over the soul with that point until I finally accepted it. Since the night she did that I have written every single night and gotten more done on two books and multiple short stories. She taught me that expectations need to exist in the proper context and that it is better to create than simply push pages. Now, I try to repay her every night by hitting realistic goals based on the story and not arbitrary word counts. Yes, I need to get some things finished so as not to let everybody down, but the stories are coming back into focus once again because of her. I just hate that she doesn't understand how much of a help she is to me in writing and in life. So consider that my new goal: to write for the story and live for the people I love and cherish. That is my new definition of success.