Coming Out

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“Someday” inevitably got put on the back-burner, superseded by ever slightly more important things like… well, life.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.