I write fiction because I like to make shit up. There, I said it.
Those who know me are nodding their heads in agreement. “Yup. He does.” And I’m writing my first blog because there is something that I’ve wanted to do since a child that is not made up.
I wrote and self-published my first novel.
My childhood was filled with writers. From my mother's introduction to Dr. Suess, devouring “Encyclopedia Brown,” and receiving the gift of “Boy’s Life” magazine from my aunt Ruth, the written word was a portal to destinations or situations I could only dream of. Bradbury took me to outer Space while Milne let me wander the hundred acre wood. Although I was voracious in my reading, there was a part of me that wanted more.
I wanted to write.
Only problem? Life got in the way. I recall the typewriter I received as a gift at college graduation. Like a treadmill in a spare bedroom, it went the way of good intentions. It was great at gathering dust.
Sure, I dabbled in short stories. I could hold my own in a school essay, and in the business of advertising, I could write some mean ad copy. I even wrote and delivered my grandmother’s eulogy.
Yet, somehow, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t just want to write. I wanted to write a novel. To get published.
I still read. Irving, Follett, and Stephen King all brought me into their worlds. “Why can’t I do that?” I asked myself. The question continued to fall on deaf ears.
Even the advent of the computer should have shown me an easier path to complete a novel. It did not. It wasn’t until I was creating a list of my yearly goals together that the thought occurred to only list one goal front and center. If I truly wanted to be a writer, I needed to actually write.
So, I took an idea that had been bouncing around my head for years and began to put it on paper with the idea that if I spent a few hours each day writing, I could get one chapter done each month. The math of at least twelve chapters done by year's end was sound, right?
It was. After the first month, I had an outline and the semblance of a first chapter. Rinse and repeat the next month and so on. By September, the novel neared completion!
Pump the brakes.
Although I met my writing goal, my content needed work. I was a writer but was the work good enough? It occurred to me that I now needed to learn about the writing process. About character development. Theme. Plot points.
Voraciously, I read about writing. Books, online articles, writer’s blogs, anything I was curious about was consumed. I even joined a few area writers’ clubs to test my work. I applied what I knew through rewrites (Ugh!), threw whole chapters away just to begin again (ouch) then rearranged scenes like pieces of a puzzle until I had twenty chapters and an epilogue. Done!
Not so fast.
Writing software helped me with spelling, dialogue tags, and sticky sentences, but was the storyline any good? In other words, did I make up enough good shit?
Only one way to find out…Beta readers.
I reached out to people I could trust to give me honest and constructive feedback because false praise is no praise. A sibling. Friends from high school, college, and a neighboring town. All readers and all with the instruction to find issues needing correction. You will never get better using beta readers who a) do not read and 2) aren’t honest regarding hurt feelings. It paid off. They found plot holes to fill, missing scenes to add, character flaws to expose. You know who you are and I am forever grateful.
Still not there.
Calling the president of my writer’s club, I asked for advice on securing an editor. He introduced me to several qualified editors and after interviewing, I chose his girlfriend (now his wife). She went through the text and forced me to re-examine passages, sharpen dialogue, practice subtlety. To think differently.
Two more steps.
First, I had to get a cover and get the text formatted. I searched for companies and found I could do most of the work myself (ISBN #’s, Library of Congress, etc.). I found a local company that produced a great cover and worked with me to make it perfect for publishing (The process was quite thorough and invigorating. If you want the contact info, email me).
Finally, I had my novel ready to publish. I downloaded my manuscript to both KDP and Ingram Spark and published it the same day! I can now say with pride that I’m a novelist. An author. The feeling is surreal, wonderful, and still with me.
One caveat: I harbor no illusions of making the bestseller list but it’s an accomplishment I’ve waited years to achieve. Knock an item off the ol’ bucket list. Whew, NOW I’m done.
Hard no.
Oh yea, the business of writing. Time to market.
Oh well. A writer’s work is never done. My point is this. Sure, I love to make shit up. But writing is so much more than sitting at your laptop and letting your imagination run wild. It’s about dedication and discipline. About completing steps toward publication. About the business of writing. About relying on others to help create the best book possible.
And that shit, you just can’t make up.
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