Several years ago, while reading a book I didn’t truly enjoy I decided that I should write my own book. One that I would enjoy reading, where the story unfolds slowly and of course has a happily ever after ending. I was thirty years old, a married mother of one and worked full time. I’d had several short works published at an early age, and had always loved the written word. I had no intention of writing to be published. I was going to write a story that had been bottled up inside of my head for years. I really wanted to know how it ended and thought writing it for my pleasure and that of a few close friends would be fun.
I didn’t dare tell anyone what I was doing for they would all think I was crazy, or so I thought. I wrote on my lunch break, I wrote a bit a night, I wrote when my husband went hunting, I wrote every spare second I had. I wanted to find the end of the story, I wanted to know the details. Writing was fun. It was exhilarating. It was my secret.
Three months down the road it was done. I took it a friend, a former English teacher and an avid reader. I took it another friend who loved to read. They both loved it, but of course they knew I’d written it and by then I wanted to know if anyone else would like it.
I went online and poked around, I found a contest and entered. I got the best and worse scores ever, but the lady who gave me the worse scores gave the best advice EVER. She wrote a lot of notes and comments and completely constructive criticism. I found out later that she’d gone well above and beyond what judges normally do. She was a multi-published author and to this day it is all I know about her. She told me things I had no clue about, she knew that I was new to writing romance, even guessed this was the first story I’d written, she told me all I needed to know to make the story even better. I took her advice, made a few changes, shot out a query letter (which I had to look up what that was), and got a request for the full ms within three weeks.
As she’d suggested I joined groups, made writing friends, took classes and learn more than I thought possible about writing and the business.
It killed my writing.
I am not saying these have not help me tremendously with “mechanical and technical” writing skills. As a matter of fact it’s done much more than that for me. But still it killed my writing. That book was rejected, a “good rejection” whatever that really is and I was given the option to submit directly to that editor again. I did. But that second manuscript was filled with what I’d starting to think of as “the right stuff”. It was rejected, a few comments from that editor, but not as encouraging as the first. I knew she lost interest. So had I.
Writing wasn’t fun - it wasn’t exhilarating. There was a cloud, something hanging over my head. I went on to start other manuscripts, got more interest, request. But I had lost interest in writing, in finding the end. Two manuscripts sit, requested, yet unfinished and unpolished.
Life got in the way and I let it. I’ve been semi-active in my writing groups and I’ve remained close to writing friends and have seen their careers blow off the charts.
The itch to write never dies I’ve found. Still stifled by all the knowledge I’ve acquired I slowly began to work my way back into old writing circles some I never truly left.
Recently I met a new writer, her reasons for writing similar to mine… in the beginning. She hasn’t been overwhelmed with knowledge and I hope she doesn’t get that way. She was so fresh and so taken with writing, just to write, she gave me that old buzz, you know the one? When you really want to WRITE.
I refuse to be overwhelmed. I just want to write again. But in order to do that, I had to figure out where I went wrong.
I’ve watched a dear friend go from questioning each word, to becoming a national best seller. I’ve watched other friends follow her lead.
Life got in my way for a while. I took a break and I can say beginning on “the outside” for a while helped me see, understand things I never took the time to realize before.
I think I might finally understand what it is successful writes have that I didn’t. They can push the “stuff” to side and JUST WRITE.
Write each spare minute. Write for the love of it. And be true to your story.
Technical and mechanical “stuff” can be fixed, edited and handled. Write the story you need to tell then worry about the rest. I’ve watched others figure that out and have much success. Now I’m going to give a try. No regrets for not doing it sooner, as long as I start today.