My body forced me to give up my accounting career that I loved. It did not ask for my permission, nor did it care what I thought about it. For several years, I wallowed in self-pity and boredom until one day a story popped into my head and refused to be ignored or dismissed. Suddenly, my dreams were filled with characters and dialogue and intrigue. I could not stop thinking about them.
Finally, I gave in and typed… and typed… and typed. Did I crap out the next Great American Novel? Hell, no! Nobody will ever read that mess of sixty-thousand-words-without-a-plot. You probably thought I magically turned into a writer, but you would be dreadfully wrong. It was great practice, though. I chased my dreams.
My next story will heretofore be referred to as Book One. This one is seventy-one thousand words WITH AN ACTUAL PLOT. I rode a wave of sheer ecstasy when I typed, “The End.” Then I experienced editing.
Wait. These words I bled from my soul were not perfect exactly as they were? No, I had head-hopped, missed plot holes, and screwed up enormous details. But after months of hard work and rewrites, it finally came together and passed muster with my editor.
I gathered my precious pages and sent them out to agents. A half-dozen rejections languish in my inbox, but I refuse to be deterred. Someday, this manuscript will land in the right hands. Until then, back to editing Book Two and on to creating Book Three.
Chase your dreams. Crush those speed bumps. Create the life you want for yourself. Do not let anyone convince you that you cannot do it.
I know you are capable. You need to believe in yourself.