Photo by Timothy L Brockon Unsplash
When I first decided that I was going to go all in on being a writer, I’d already wanted to be a writer for twenty years.
Twenty. Years.
I thought a lot about it. I knew exactly how it would feel to walk into a bookstore and see my name on a paperback spine. I practiced signing. I could taste the idea of being published. A real writer.
And I made some strides. I worked as a journalist for a while. I made a (very) little bit of money freelancing. I bought Writers Marketplace every year and seeing those big books lined up on my shelf made me feel like a real writer.
When I made my first $10, I used it to fill my gas tank (you could do that with $10 in 1996) and I lifted my chin and called myself a writer. I wrote it on my oldest daughter’s kindergarten registration form.
And I noodled around with ideas for books. Because that’s what I wanted. Writing novels was all I’d ever wanted. I thought about writing them a lot. An awful lot.
But I didn’t actually write one until I was in my mid-30s.
It wasn’t good. In fact, it was a real stinker. Whew. But I did it. And when I knew I could do it — that I had it in me to write an entire novel — I made it my mission to figure out how to make writing them my life.
I decided that being a good writer was about mechanics and I could learn tose.
So, I set out to learn. Not only how to write, but how to bea writer.
And I figured out a few things.