To Be a Writer

Dear diary,

It is all I have ever wanted, to make money doing this. You know, it is what I have been on here complaining about, after all. All I have to say is be careful what you wish for.

I pictured my life differently. Curled up on a comfy seat, a notebook or tablet in hand, a cup of coffee beside me, writing.

Hah. Yes, that is what my life used to be like, mainly. Sending third drafts to any publisher that would take them. Again and again.

Praying that one would publish me.

Then one day it happened! Oh, you recall that amazing day. I believe I wrote. “PUBLISHED!” across your pages.

Finally I would be able to help my family, give to my church and charities. Finally after many many years, my work is paying off.

Oh, I sound unappreciative, don't I. I am not. Really. I just wish I had done some things differently.

Dear diary,

What things, you may be thinking? Sorry for the cliffhanger. I had an interview. Sigh. Oh you know how much I hate those. Social anxiety is a real thing.

Sorry, so is my drifting mind. The things. Well for one I would have had my author photo taken when I was much younger. Even as much makeup as Tammy Fay doesn't hide my age, huh! Neither does that reference. I also should have limited the amount of time I spent doing interviews. Negotiating better. But even on the other side of fifty, I am new to this, mistakes will be made.

Dear diary,

I just want to write! Ugh. Yes, I had a sequel to Hannah ‘s Story planned. You know this. I talked about it enough. It is different though on a deadline. It isn't how I write. Or wasn't. Add that to finding time between interviews.

Oh, and now I have one on TV! NO. NO. Hyper anxiety about that. I am already hurting thinking about it. I begged my publisher and agent to try to get out of it. No go. They report to understand my disease but this situation shows they don't.

Dear diary,

It was awful. Alright, they said it went well. I guess, for what it was, it did.

I walked in, legs shaking like a tree in a hurricane. My throat as dry as a desert. I could taste the fear, like acid, on the back of my throat.

Still I smiled. Said all the right things. I only looked at the camera once. Not bad.

That was a week ago. A few print interviews were cancelled. No, I didn't care what they thought. Some writing was done. Mainly though, I rested. A flare, as you have guessed.

I knew pushing it would cost. Now they know. I have a promise from them that I don't have to do that more than once a month. They say I will get used to it. Don't believe it. Do you?

Dear diary,

Don't ever read your own reviews. Right, you don't get them. Lucky you. It isn't just the professional ones. They are bad enough. In this age of social media, everyone has an opinion. They share them freely.

Alright, I know I have a lot of good reviews too. I even printed out a few that I have hung up in my office for motivation. Does that sound arrogant? I don't mean it to be. It does help though.

The other, ugh, the others. They don't work quite the same way. The opposite actually. I should just ignore them. Easier said than done.

Dear diary,

Writing is a solitary profession. That is one thing that makes it so appealing. Then you get a publisher, an editor, a bloody agent.

Again, I just want to write! I don't want a deadline. I don't want someone saying that, “this would actually be better.” Or. “Come, my dear. It is a perfect time to promote yourself.”

The pressure builds like steam in a tea pot. I just want to scream.

Instead, I went for a long walk. Yes diary, I know that may cost me later. I took Pearl for a walk. We went as far as the river. I sat there while she sniffed and marked all around it. Took off my shoes and actually touched grass. Funny right.

It was very peaceful. I worked out a plot problem. When I got home, I wrote for nearly two hours. Took a break to make a healthy meal before writing again for another hour.

Sent it to Michelle and she actually loved it. No notes. A miracle.

Dear diary,

It did cost me. Sleep was difficult due to the pain. But my sense of well-being from getting some actual work done makes it worth it. I will be gentler on myself today. We will take a smaller walk. Then I will write. I have decided to be gentler on myself. I want to be able to work.

I need to be able to work. You know how much this means to me. I can't imagine living this life without writing. Truly, I don't think I could.

Dear diary,

First draft of my second book is done! I sent it off for first editing. I know. I know. I don't usually share my work this early. But usually I am not working with a team. A team. Lord have mercy.

I feel so accomplished. Even more than I did for Hannah ‘s Story. That one came so easily. This one felt like pushing through wet cement, quick drying wet cement. Every word a struggle. Was it because I was on a deadline, because I am now a best selling author? Things are expected?

Probably. I know I still have some work to do but the story is there.

I wish I was a planner, someone who could use an outline and not feel confined. You know I can't. You remember that month I tried. I believe that I cursed at you. Forgive me.

So getting the story out is a major accomplishment.