A Writer’s Ramble

I am sitting in my throne of a chair in my living room listening to my baby cough in her bed down the hall. She is recovering from a mild cold, but I still hate to hear it. Sometimes I write in this recliner. Sometimes I write at my desk in my bedroom — the only place in the house the toddler can’t get to.

I’m starting this series to record how I am becoming a better writer and a published author. I am also putting off editing my manuscript again so there’s that.. The journey so far has been unexpected. Ten years ago, this would have all been a distant dream. Growing up I knew I wanted to write. I wrote in a journal for most of my life. I wrote essays in English. I wrote fantasy short stories and story ideas in composition notebooks. I also devoured books. One of my favorite books in high school was something about how to read symbolism in literature. I can’t remember the title, but I was amazed with the depth that could be put into a single story. Rain, for example, can represent sadness, but also renewal and life.

Then came college where I put books and writing aside. Even after graduating, I didn’t go back. I went six years without picking up a book. It wasn’t until I was pregnant with my first child that I began to read again. Pregnancy can slow you down in the best ways.

Even later, I wanted to write again. Except I had no ideas. Writer’s block is real. I wasn’t interested in writing fantasy. I began to write my own story which became my memoir, The North Star. I will be self-publishing that this year.

Publishing is a whole other world that I will get into more in future posts. There’s a lot.

Writing feels like my calling in life. I want to learn everything about it. I read books about writing and take online courses about writing. I get people to read my writing to get feedback.

There are times when I get into bed and tell my husband I can’t do this. There is too much I don’t know. The memoir isn’t good enough. I’m not good enough. But the next day, I try again anyway. I have to get this right.

It’s a little ironic that I didn’t start writing till I was busy with a baby. Sometimes I wish I had started sooner. But if I had, I wouldn’t have the same stories to tell.

My quiet house in the evenings is a refuge. The only sounds are the whir of my laptop and the wind outside. Once both girls are in bed I can finally relax. I stay up late writing. I lose sleep to write. It’s the only time I have to write. I don’t regret it even if it makes for some rough mornings.

I’m glad you are following me on my ramble towards becoming a writer.