Four years ago, I had an idea for a book. From that idea sprung two more completely different ideas. After those three ideas I had yet another idea. In three years I had written three novels, all at 120k and above, and a partial novel, with ideas for a couple more. I was on a roll!
At that point I started to worry that I would run out of great ideas. My husband laughed at me and looked at me like I was crazy. This year alone I have come up with two new series, one with seven books and one with six books. As well as several other stories.
When I began writing four years ago, I wrote for me. For the passion of writing. When I was in college and a newly wed, I majored in theater. I loved to perform. However, as I began to have children I stopped, feeling guilty that it took me away from them so much.
So when the ideas began to flow for writing, it was a gift from heaven. I was able to stay home, be creative, have an outlet, and still be with my four children. But a year ago I started hearing a lot about publishing. I also heard how good my work was, and that I shouldn’t just keep it to myself.
Suddenly, my goals of just writing for me, and possibly printing off one or two copies of my work for myself to sit on my shelf, became warped. I began writing so I could get published. I wanted to be on the best sellers list and have a major agent and big contract that would allow me to write everything I wanted with a guarantee that it would get to the masses. (Okay I know that was a bit far fetched, but a girl can dream right?)
I began editing everything a million times over. I stopped creating and began reading books and blogs and magazines about writing and publishing. I started blogging and twittering and facebooking more than writing. I started going to conferences about getting an agent, and how to publish and write queries, and synopses. I became so sucked into the whole idea of making myself a bestselling author, that I found when I sat down to write, I couldn’t.
I got writer’s block for the first time. I would sit at the page and stare at it, and type terrible dialogue. Action that made no sense. And characters that were stiff and forced. Just so I could write something. I became frustrated with my work and started going back and just editing again. For the past three months I have struggled to get anything on the page.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, when I got my most recent rejection letter, a very good friend asked me what I was doing it all for. I realized that my priorities had changed. They had gone from being about the passion of writing a story that I had to get out of me, to writing for prestige. Which wasn’t me. And it wasn’t what I wanted for me.
Now don’t get me wrong. The conferences I have gone to, the books I have read, the new author friendships I have formed, have all made me a better writer. And the goal of becoming a best selling author is a great goal. But, what I needed most, was to get back to the passion of the story. To get back to writing, because that is what I am meant to do. To tell stories.
So I did. Which is why I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks. This month alone, and we are on day 22, I have written over 50k. I have been able to flush out the ideas for a whole new series. I have almost completed the first book in the series, and almost completely edited another novel, so I can get it out. I feel good, I feel relaxed, I feel free.
I’m still going to submit my work for publication. And I do truly hope that someone likes it enough to pick it up. But I am no longer writing to get published. I have gone back to writing for the passion of it. And I have found, that in doing so, my work, is much better for it. And so am I.
So to that great writer friend of mine, Katanie Duarte, who reminded me why I started this writer’s journey, I thank you!