Unfortunately, it appears that I have failed in my stated goal: to begin the story of my world, specifically focusing on the birth of my elder sister, using National Novel Writing Month as an excuse.

Certainly, I told of the events that led up to that point, but as I was reluctant to show myself, I instead allowed the scraps of memory I still had – the writings of others – to describe everything instead and that led to a poor, muddled mess of what I can only imagine is nonsense to any who did not live in my world. Which, I am sure, is everyone.

And by the time I realized that I would not be able to reach my goal without drastic changes, I personally was so out of practice – or, more like, inexperienced in the first place – that the only thing I could do was barely an outline of what happened.

If I had been better prepared, or better practiced, I would have been better equipped to provide something worth at least the time it took to read. For this I apologize, and I shall strive to do better on my next attempt.

My next attempt with these events, not my next attempt at NaNoWriMo. I suspect that I am not suited for the format, though I suspect I got a lot of use out of the event this year. I’ve learned more about myself, the history I need to tell and how that can be molded into a story, and my own personal faults and strengths.

Though I suspect none will read this, let alone the entirety of this mess, I do appreciate the hypothetical person out there that encouraged me to go on. I kept you in mind, and I wrote for you.

For writing for myself is a fool’s errand. Eventually I will be dead, and what use do I have to tell a story when I remember the history well enough.