I was NOT the kid who always wanted to be a writer. In fact, I denied that skill was in my toolbox. I read a ton growing up, and in elementary school I organized a neighborhood newsletter. It was just as bad as you might suspect. My dad would always tell me that I would be a good writer but I just scoffed.
No no no. Writers are bearded recluses. Writers have beach cottages where they drink coffee and use typewriters all day. I didn’t have any ideas and was a reader, not a writer.
I went to college, and in a beginning English class discovered I was actually pretty good at reading, critiquing and writing papers. I got a Bachelor’s degree in English, thought about going into academia professionally and got a Master’s degree. But all the while still not totally sure what I was doing.
Periodically ideas for stories would pop into my head …. and I let them go. I was not a writer. I was not a filmmaker. There was no reason for me to write down those ideas.
But this one particular idea would not go away. It hung around and developed and matured and kept poking at me.
I went through boring day jobs, online entrepreneurship, doing what I could, reading a ton and kept putting off really trying anything for myself for years.
Finally, I gave in to the idea. The year I turned 30, I wrote that first draft. On and off from about July to mid-December I made myself sit down every day and write. Just get it out of my system. Figuring out the story and the characters and putting the pieces together.
And it turned out? I loved it.
I love books. I love creating. Why not try my hand at creating books?
I wrote the first draft of a second book the following year, and many more after that …