A Novel Dilemma

Can one seed spawn a forest?

I am faced with a dilemma that affects every writer at some point: when does a story end? Without going into great detail, I developed a story around a central hook, began to see the two main characters, could hear the one's voice as clearly as Watson did Bell, and all seemed right with the world. Well, the story anyway. Of course, I hadn't started writing it yet, but I plotted and outlined, looking for an ending, unsure which way the story should go.

It didn't matter. The story decided for me.

Those two characters spawned a third, their opposition, the protagonist in most ways. A B story took shape, less defined than the first, but more compelling, optimistic and driven. It gave the story and this new character purpose--Unlike the other two, suddenly reduced to comic foils, observers, participants in a sinister world.

How exactly did my little short story grow to novel length without my permission? I don't want that. I generally prefer the short-story format. I feel I work best in it, getting my philosophical points across, snippets of life and character melded into one neat package. This story, this lengthy tale of tens of thousands of words, is denying me that privilege. That joy.

But isn't that the purpose of the novel? To be unwieldy and cumbersome before finally taking shape? Before coming to the neat final draft reader and writer should both enjoy?

Of course, I still don't have an ending. That in itself is unusual for me, where endings leap out long before the middle.

I miss my short story and wish I could put the genie back in the bottle, or perhaps to keep our earlier metaphor going, to trim the hedgerow to topiary garden. That is long gone; the weeds are sprouting, the acorn planted. I guess all that's left now is to enjoy the forest for the trees, hoping not to get lost along the way.

But damn! That dilemma remains...