When I First Started Writing…

When I first started writing, the advice that has stayed with me for 28 years is this: Write what you think, write what you feel, and write what you know. It doesn’t matter if someone doesn’t like it.

There may have been some profanity thrown into the mix, but that was the gist of it. I’ve been writing ever since.

I was a quiet, shy, observant child. Painfully so. Writing became this exemplary form of communication for me. It is through writing that I discovered my voice, the strength in that voice, and it allowed me to become incredibly comfortable speaking in public. I used to avoid eye contact and concentrate on the words I’d written, but now I make a point of making eye contact with people as I speak and memorizing several lines in advance to avoid looking down at what I’ve prepared. I’ve found that this alternative form of being even more direct than usual actually makes people uncomfortable. They look away, but they don’t stop listening.

To this day, I am still quiet and observant. I’m not the type of person that pushes herself upon anyone in terms of friendship, or even conversation. I don’t walk up to strangers and have conversations with them for no reason. I tend to keep to myself and my circle of friends, a circle that I am drawing tighter each day.

In my core group of friends, I am the only writer. I’m also the one who communicates differently than everyone else, probably because I do write and putting my thoughts down, in any form, is generally how I keep from killing others, but it’s also how I fight for the things that are most important to me.

Of late I’ve been reading a lot of different statements about writing from people on different levels of the spectrum, and I either find myself inspired or irritated.

I’ve said it before, but it bears saying again: Proverbial puking words onto a page does not make you a writer. Cohesiveness in storytelling might not even make you a writer. Sad, but true. We are all different. The people who drive me insane are the ones who have, quite literally, been writing for 15 minutes and expect fame and fortune.

Getting published traditionally and being successful to the point where you can quit your day job is a longshot. You might very well have a greater shot at winning Powerball or Mega Millions. A writer I love talks about that a lot, but apparently no one is listening to him. However, I’ve read all of his books since about 2003, so I don’t perceive my work as “perfect”, “fantastic”, or “superior” because I see greatness in so many people’s work. It might be someone on the New York Times Best Sellers’ List, but it might also be a little-known blogger or an Indie author. So many people have great stories to tell, and many more do not.

Several years ago I was in Barnes & Noble with my Aunt. They were remodeling that particular store and the genre I write in had been moved around. There were probably several thousand books, all one genre, all potential “competition”. I could have had an outright panic attack looking closely at them, but I didn’t. I decided that there was room left on the shelf for me. I did have a moment of serious doubt, but it quickly passed. The fact that people have told me they love my characters and would buy my books, based solely on reading a few chapters, is special to me.

This platform is where I come to be myself. There can be a plethora of emotion here, and I do not judge myself, or others, for any of it. In my professional work as an editor, I am supremely honest and direct, just as I am in every other aspect of my life. And when I’m dealing with my fiction material, it’s not that different. It’s still my voice, harsh honesty, and intensely strong characters that you will either like, love, or love-to-hate. I like, respect, and appreciate the honesty within the fiction because that’s what helps breathe life into it.

In the future, I hope to be able to share it all with you. For now, I’ll be here… Writing what I think, feel, and know. I don’t care if it’s liked or not.