On a completely unrelated issue I have to make a declaration first: I love my iPhone, I hate my charger. Last week on the night before I left to go away my phone charger fried, which wouldn’t have been a problem if it hadn’t had the new lightning connection. Needless to say after a lot of messing around I am now able to charge again. But I had no idea the problem with these chargers! Check it out, seriously, my brother said he knew all about it after my charger connection melted, thanks for the heads up! Grr! Anyway, this is my PSA to those who might have the charger and not know about the issue – buy a replacement now!
I have so much to say that I don’t know where to begin. I started writing fiction when I was around nine years old. It’s always been a part of my life. I wrote children’s books when I was a child, went through a phase of fan fiction in my teenage years (yes, it did exist back then, we were the pioneers), then I went on to romance. I use “romance” as a general term because I’ve written in a lot of sub-genres.
Here’s the thing… I didn’t think I was special. I’ve written for the better part of twenty years because I loved it, because I was driven to do it, because there was nothing in this world I loved doing more. I worked long and I worked hard. I learned about the craft, studied others, did the courses, because I loved it.
I thought I understood my writing practice. I thought I knew exactly how I felt about writing. I was wrong. Not so long ago I was completely ignorant to the world of self-publishing. I mean I knew it existed, of course, and knew the salient details. But there is no amount of information gathering that can prepare you versus the actual experience of doing.
It’s like writing. Folks in my life knew I wrote fiction. I’ve never lied about it. Never been ashamed of it. Though showing my work to people was another story altogether. When new people learned – usually after months of knowing me and always through other people – that I was a writer, the questions poured out. I can tell you I was awkward about it, and I was, but I loved talking about writing. Invariably, through the years, people have brought me, showed me, explained to me, how they started to write a book after talking to me. Some got a few sentences in, some got through a few pages. But the question was always the same: how do you write a full-length novel? How do you get tens of thousands of words out onto paper and have them make sense?
Now for the reveal, I have no idea. I don’t know how to educate people on getting those words out. It’s hard work, at least that’s what people tell me, but I’ve been writing and writing and writing since I was a kid. I’ve had trouble with plot, characters, research, all the different elements, sure. But I’ve never struggled to sit at the computer (or with my notebook) and write. I just sit down and it’s there. I get tired. I get frustrated. But I never resent it. I’m never bored. I never want to give up. Those are the qualities a writer needs. It has to be a passion. You have to love it. If you don’t then you can’t force it. If it’s a chore then you’ll only aggravate yourself.
I started this post to talk about self-publishing and my recent journey and once again I got off topic. Most of my posts end up being about writing rather than what they were supposed to be about! I’ll maybe pop back later and write what I meant to write. :p
If anyone has any questions get in touch. I have to talk about excerpts and cover design and I have updates on my website to do! Lots going on! But I welcome it. I’ve never worked harder in my life, but I’ve also never been happier.
Good luck on your adventures,