I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. Most often it’s been for someone else, whether a homework assignment, newsletter, grant proposal, sales piece, amusing letters from Santa for Facebook friends … I enjoy the parts of any circumstance that involve writing.
“Writer” is not a stand out in my resumes, however. It just happens to come with whatever employment territory I find myself drawn to. It’s been something that I do, not something that I am.
Now, having reviewed “I Knew Men” with different eyes than I’ve ever used before — and having shared that this is happening — for the first time I’m seeing myself as a writer. It feels strange, like the first time I confessed I smoked.
You’re a smoker?
You’re a writer?
(I no longer smoke, but it sure helped while writing my novel.)
FROM WRITER TO AUTHOR
While writing “I Knew Men” I typed so much that the tops of the keys for letters A,S,E,L and N were worn off. I guess that validates how much I like to write. When my novel is published, I’ll be an author. I’ve suddenly leaped from one new role to an even bigger one.
You’re an author?
That sounds so serious, so not me.
REVIEWING INSIDE AND OUT
I wrote for the fun of it, but now, as I review my novel for changes and corrections, the seriousness of publishing has firmly taken hold.
Instead of lying awake at night thinking about the story, I’m now lying awake thinking about the editing, the final outcome. The editors at Newman Springs Publishing seem to have found all of the grammatical errors that were made, but I guess I was expecting more.
More scrutiny? Possibly.
More hand holding? I may put in a request.
I think about my main character, Anna, who talks to God several times as her dramatic, life-changing situations occur. Although Anna is completely fictional, I find myself relating to her now more than ever. Speaking to God, I ask, “Am I doing this well? Are we heading in the right direction?”
Serious. Really serious.