Since June of 2015, I have written more than 500,000 words of fiction. That is one novella length fan fiction story, plus 5 more books. And right now I continue to write, dedicated and devoted to a new-found craft that I love. I live in hope and in desperation, but no matter what happens I will continue to write.
I have done many things in life but my mind and my heart always seem to circle 'round back to creativity. It started with poetry and art, then moved on to photography and music, only to move back to poetry again. Now, in this phase of my life, all the old hobbies have deserted me and I've been left with that which has been a dream my entire life. I've always wanted to be a writer, since my sophomore year of high school. And it was in my sophomore year of high school that I realized I had no talent for writing. We had to compose short stories and I begrudgingly accepted my failure at it. When I read my friends' tales they were amazing, emotional, provocative, and brilliant. When I read my own it was worse than B-rated movie schlock. I'm not even joking and I wish I was. But something happened almost ten years ago, and I wrote my first decent short story with length. It was good, it was funny, and I actually enjoyed reading. So I started another and life got in the way. I got 40,000 words in and simply stopped because my life had come undone.
Last year I found another of my unfinished stories gathering dust in my hard drive. It was my first and only attempt at real fan fiction. I was 25,000 words in and thought to myself, 'why not'? So I began writing, and researching, and writing some more all in an attempt to finish the piece. I continued to read books voraciously but I also stuck with the writing. When I finished I was shocked to discover a tale of more than 66,000 words! I thought that if I were capable of writing so much and finish that story, then why not finish my other one? Ideas began forming in my head. Even as I diligently put word to paper to finish my second story, I was already thinking about a third. Characters haunted me and a fresh plot tantalized from the distance. As soon as the second story was finished I began the third only that time I wrote like I was possessed. I had no idea what I was writing, it simply told itself through my fingers and dreams each night. And that was how it began.
So now, after a sequel to the second book, and two sequels to the third...I sit on an edge. A half-tilted cup of waiting. If the news is negative, I will be disappointed but shrug my shoulders and move on. If the news is positive, then I think I will feel vindicated somehow. Like earning a best blocker award in roller derby when I was barely able to stay upright on skates at the beginning. I will be sending a message to me and me alone. Offering advice that I would do well to heed. "Never give up; never give up hope. And if you want it, then work for it and make it happen."
I want it and I'm not giving up. The working part is just a given but keep your fingers crossed for me anyway.