The Story of How I Got Started

 

Chapter 1:

One of the first things I ever remember writing was a couplet poem in elementary school. It was around Halloween, and I came up with various couplets all about vampires, ghosts, werewolves, and witches. It was the first time I remember a teacher praising me for something I wrote. I wish I still had it.

I liked the feeling I got from stringing words together, so I started doing more of it. I abandoned poetry for short stories. I remember writing a story about a Canadian mongoose who was also a detective, though I can’t tell you any details.

 

Chapter 2:

As I got older, in high school, I wrote notebooks full of terrible fiction stories. I would sit in class and write stories instead of notes. All of them were awful, but I kept on writing. I went to college for creative writing, and then…something happened.

In all the messaging about gaining employment and having a practical career where I would make money and have health insurance, I got scared that I wasn’t good enough. So I stopped writing for a while.

 

Chapter 3:

It wasn’t until much later that I picked up a metaphorical pen again. I proposed a travel column to a small magazine and was shocked when they accepted it. I did that for a while, and I don’t remember why I stopped. I discovered LiveJournal around the same time and used it as a diary and wrote many terrible rants and personal confessions there before moving to a more traditional blog format.

I never forgot that I wanted to write fiction. I just wasn’t sure I knew how anymore. When I finally got the courage to quit my 9-5 job, I jumped with both feet into the world of freelance content creation. That’s what I do now, and I love every second of it.

 

Chapter 4:

But in the last several years, I got back to writing fiction. I always thought of myself as a fantasy or science fiction writer. But I sat down to work on a new project, and a women’s fiction book poured out of me onto the pages. That’s the manuscript I’m trying to get published now.

And once I allowed myself to get out of the box, I found I had more stories to tell. I am almost done with a second manuscript and have a third story outlined.

Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t given up writing when I was younger. Would I be further ahead now? Would I already be published? But then, would any of these other aspects of my life have happened? There’s no way to know.

But I am glad I’m writing again. For you and for me.