I was afraid I would never publish a book.
I wanted to write as a teenager, but I was busy making bad decisions. I wanted writing to be my college major, but I needed to make a living, so I chose Engineering. I wanted to write while I was working, but I had a family. So many buts. My desire to write never left me.
Writing makes me feel as if I am flying. Watching the words as they form on the page makes my heart flutter. Being a decent writer, I know that my success in this profession, my fourth profession, will take hard work. I don’t care.
The first time I understood that writing was my passion was in the 11th grade. The teacher asked everyone to write on any subject they wanted. Everyone who completed the assignment would have an extra “A” added to their grade point average.
I was a teenager, newly affected by young love. You understand that I was a dorky teenager. I was NOT a popular kid. I wasn’t about to win most friendly, or best smile, or be the homecoming queen. I enjoyed school and was good at it. My mom and dad smiled when I told them that the Latin Club was the hot ticket for me. I can laugh about it now, but I was a nerd.
The person I liked was one of the popular kids; he was six foot, five inches tall, skin like honey, big brown eyes. His girlfriend was one of the most popular cheerleaders. He didn’t know I existed.
I wrote about “My Man.” The essay was about how much I wanted this person. And about how he would never be my man. I was a pragmatist even in the throes of unrequited love. When the teacher picked up the winning paper and read it, I almost jumped out of my seat. As he read my essay, I was excited to hear someone else speak my words. I loved watching the reactions of my classmates. I was hooked.
To compound my writing addiction, I love to read. My parents would tell stories of how I would read anything. I read all the books in our house. I read magazines. Food. Cans. Newspapers. A full set of World Book encyclopedias.
My parents brought a contraption home called the “cycle teacher.” It was a big round red pancake. You opened the pancake, inserted round sheets into it then pulled a lever. Sheets rotated to a little display window. The window contained wonderful random information. The next pull of the lever rotated questions about the facts previously displayed in the window. It was state-of-the-art 1960s technology. I lusted after it so much that my parents used access to the cycle teacher as a punishment.
One night while my parents were asleep, I snuck the cycle teacher into my room. I stayed up all night reading and answering sheet after sheet until I had answered them all. Whew, was I in trouble the next day. I fell asleep in every class.
I am both a new and prolific writer. Having written six books in the last six months was splendid. I’ve had an interesting roller coaster of a life which I write about in my books.
This mad release of books is because of my many years in corporate America. My business writing consisted of emails, PowerPoint presentations, memos, and reports. Now I can write whatever I want, I am writing whatever and whenever I want. I suspect I will slow down in the next few years, however, right now I am on a writing high.
I say all of this to make a simple point. It has taken me thirty years to write my first book. Perfect conditions for writing your book will never exist. Life is like that. Family, children, work, accidents, and illness will continue for as long as you live. I wish I had written my book sooner. If I can write and publish after all these life challenges, so can you. Get to work. Your publishing dreams are within reach.