How I Got Started in this Writing Thingy

Okay, now that the Aries Rising tour is over, I'm back to my own stuff. Just completed my manuscript, Murder in the Family, and have sent it off to my teacher for final review. Then on to researching agents and the dreaded query letter!

But before we chat about those, let's chat about how we all got started in this writing thingy, anyway. Here's my story:

There wasn’t much else to do the year I turned seven. Stuck in bed, I read anything I could get my hands on. At eight, I brought home a sack full of books every month from the school book club (remember the Troll?). Someone asked me just today what my favorite toy was as a child. "Books, of course," I responded happily. "Still are." By nine, I’d read everything in the children’s library – twice. At ten, my teacher gave me Robinson Crusoe.

It was a natural progression to writing, I suppose. It didn’t matter what, I just loved the act of creating, of filling the page with words for others to read and enjoy. In seventh grade, my best friend and I churned out a hundred-page masterpiece – a huge number when you’re eleven-going-on-twelve. We turned in our masterpiece to our English teacher, our pre-pubescent chests swelled with pride. We got a “C”.

That first rejection didn’t deter me, though. (They still don't!) For years I wrote, the ideas flowing continually. Short stories, poems, articles, reports, even a song or two. Then, as suddenly as I’d started, I stopped. Life happened. The kids came along. Bills needed to be paid. Whatever excuses existed, I found them – and more. Except that when I wasn’t writing, I wasn’t me. I felt incomplete, uneasy, just plain wrong.

After dreaming of being a “real” writer for years, after the kids were grown and the husband an ex, I began to write again. Most of what poured out was garbage, but the stuff worth keeping I began to show to people I thought would be honest about how bad my writing was.

Seems everyone has their own opinion about what makes for a good read. The beginning needs to be flashier (ok . . .I think). The middle drags. Can you add some panache? (well, um . . .) How about some romance? (But it’s a story about the boogeyman) Why don’t you take out the part on the swing and make it happen at her friend’s house? (I would, except that would change the entire story.) The ending needs to be snappier. (Huh?)

It was enough to make me hurl. Was I engaging my readers or driving them to the remote? So, I began to take classes, to learn my craft and hopefully, perfect it. I’ve come a long way from the neophyte I once was, and today, while I hope never to feel as though I’ve learned everything there is to learn, I do feel good about my writing ability. I now have three novels under my belt, and am looking for representation.

My goal will always be to weave an honest tale, one that touches my reader clear through to the heart, whether it be the warm and fuzzy tingle of joy and happiness or the ice-cold stab of fear and dread. As long as my stories feel authentic, my characters are true to themselves and the dialog realistic, I’m confident that I will someday be able to turn my fantasy of being a “real” writer into reality and perhaps even delight a reader or two along the way.

Could there be anything better? Not hardly.

Send me a comment and tell me how you got started. I'd love to hear from you!