I love words.
I love the freedom they allow. How they float overhead and meet in unity to tell a story.
Any story you want to tell. There are no limitations.
But writing them comes with a ton of work. It requires patience. Which is something I massively lack.
There are days you have to wait for the story the words are forming to unfold itself, while other times you have to work through periods when creative juices don’t want to flow. Then there are those nights when you are too tired and worn out from your demanding day job and you don’t have the energy in you to type a single word- even when you very badly want to.
A final draft can be terrifying and wreak havoc on your self-confidence. I often question every single sentence, determined I can make it better. Disappointed because it doesn’t seem good enough. Taking them to pieces because my grammar sucks.
Writing books is one of the hardest and biggest challenges I have taken on, but I am on the right track. I know not everyone will like what or how it turns out in the end, yet I also know this is what I am supposed to do. I feel it a thousand times over.
All these years, all those voices echoing in my head are stories waiting to come out.
Crazy? Nope, not I. I can prove it. Watch as they blossom onto pages.
And when I’m done and my story is complete, the feeling of accomplishment that resonates in my chest is a high that has me addicted.
My mind is on fire. It can no longer suppress stories or characters. While I work on one book the next is weaving its way through my thoughts. Growing and stacking as each day passes.
If I don’t write the words down fast enough I fear I might lose them. So, I find myself forever writing no matter what other mundane tasks I am involved in.
I swear my brain even writes in my sleep.
That being stated, my second book took much longer than the first.
I reasoned it was okay. I was fine because the first one is really bad writing due to I not having any earthly idea of what the hell I was doing.
Until somewhere, in the middle of my second manuscript, my lack of patience started to mess with me and I found myself doubting I would actually complete it.
With each frustrated breath, the importance of taking my time with my words kept sounding an alarm in my head. I knew for the sake of my characters I needed to reach deeper inside me in order to surface emotion onto the pages, if I wanted to reach the next level of writing. If I didn’t want it to turn out like the first book.
So, now you’re wondering if I was able to, right?
I was. To some degree. But a huge part of me didn’t like what was resurfacing. I slapped up a wall faster than I could blink. I was left feeling misunderstood and awkward. And alone.
While this entire process played out for the past six months, I busied myself with my social media accounts. I used them to help give a reprieve from my thoughts and find new books to submerge in. One can never be alone when lost in a book.
But imagine my surprise when through social media I stumbled onto the best possible discovery EVER.
By being my awkward, lonely self and following what I am truly passionate about, I walked into a world of book bloggers, other authors, and people who adore the written word as much as I do.
I suddenly knew I belonged. I found where I fit in. My niche. My tribe. My fellow romance lovers. The amount of support I’ve seen and felt, for each other, especially in the romance genre has amazed me. They root for one another, share each other’s works, and recommend books endlessly.
When my day goes down the tubes (which occasionally happens), I know I can escape into the tribe and find what I need to make the next step. It’s encouragement via powerful force. Encouragement that understands. I have never been more excited to be part of something in my life.
I’m proud to be in this world. I’m proud that this is MY world.
And I don’t plan to give it up anytime soon.
I’m just getting started after all.