When I first
had an idea for a novel, I was almost afraid to tell anyone about it, lest it
become real.  It was like by telling
someone, I’d be unleashing a proverbial pandora’s box out into the universe. It
was like if I spoke about it, then I would be compelled, obligated even, to
write it. Honestly, that scared the crap of out me.

So, the idea
remained a secret, a fantasy if you will. I carried it around with me like
precious cargo; the thought that I might actually write a novel too frightening
and too large to even fathom.  My
revelations, when they finally came, progressed slowly; shared over a beer with
my husband, whispered to my sister as we giggled like teenagers in our old
shared bedroom during a visit home. However far-fetched, at some point I
actually started to entertain the idea. Could I actually attempt to do
this?! Maybe someday.

“Someday”
inevitably got put on the back-burner, superseded by ever slightly more
important things like… well, life. Work. Responsibilities. The day-to-day grind
that turns days into months and months into years in the blink of an eye. The
idea remained though. Like a nagging little gnat that I couldn’t quite swat
away, a voice persisted. Just do it already. What are you waiting for?!

I was
waiting for Stephen King, it turned out. In the summer of 2017, I started
reading On Writing. It had been in my Kindle for a while, but I had
never really gotten around to reading it. Yeah, I know. What a cliché I am. A
book on writing got me writing. I have to come clean though –  that’s exactly what happened. Mr. King’s book,
which was part bio and part masterclass, was exactly the ember I needed to
light the fire under my (pardon my French) ass. Not even ten minutes after
putting his book down, I started writing my own.

In the years
that followed, I quietly wrote at sloth’s speed. Little bits here and there,
whenever pesky things like work and life weren’t in the way. I shared each
finished chapter with my husband, my sister and a handful of “beta” readers
which consisted of close friends and family. It became a sort of
hobby-slash-project. Not the kind that takes you to Home Depot, but the kind
that lights you up from inside and makes your heart beat like you’ve just run a
mile.

I was in a happy cocoon of creativity, emotional support (thank you my cheerleaders!) and inspiration.  Until one day in the summer of 2019 when something frightening happened. I finished. My novel had actually gotten written. Eighty thousand words of blood, sweat and tears. After a couple of rounds of edits, I embarked on the soul-crushing, heart-wrenching debacle that is querying. Talk about putting yourself out there. Imagine this. You send a letter out, asking for, say, a date. You wait patiently for a response. Then you finally get an email basically saying, “Umm, yeah. But, no. Pass.” Sight unseen. Ouch.

Writers have
been telling aspiring writers since the first book was published: Prepare to be
rejected. You need to have thick-skin. The road to success is paved with
rejection slips. We all know and accept these to be truths. Somehow, knowing it
and living it are two entirely different things.

Despite the
initial rejections, I soldiered on; my tight little circle of supporters
cheering me on; again ensconced in my happy little bubble. Until I decided to
start a blog, that is. Whatever possessed me to do this? I guess it all goes
back to my “dating” analogy. Sending emails is fine, but if you really want to
land a date, well, you’ve got to go online and put up a profile. These are the
realities of the tech savvy, hyper-connected world we live in right now. And
so, here I am. Putting myself out there. Again.

My warm,
cushy cocoon is burst wide open. Whether I sink or swim ceases to be a private
matter. All of Twitter, Facebook and WordPress are now privy to my little
secret. I have written a book. I hope to get it published. It may get hard, but
I will soldier on. There, I’ve come out. Whatever successes or failures await,
I now share openly with you, with the world. The finale is yet unknown, but by
God, it’ll be one heck of a ride getting there.