Life is hard. The older I get the harder life seems to get. Is it me? Probably. I strive for perfection in everything I do, and it always seems to get me into trouble with someone. Husband, kids, parents, friends, etc.
School has been the best thing for me at this juncture of my life. It’s given me back my self-worth. I again know I’m capable of achieving my goals – and for me that’s a huge step. I’ve always had conflicting thoughts about what I’m supposed to do with my life. The one thing I do know is that I’m supposed to write. I love disappearing into my head and discovering new worlds and new people. I get to decide how things work and who has the last say in winning or losing whatever battle I’ve created.
Escapism is a great way to deal with life’s pressures, so why not use it?
The longer I write, the better I get. I will be multi-published…some day.
I am so excited! I get to participate in a new project that my writing group is setting up. I’m hesitant though because of the requirements. It is a series of stories bound together by the beginning plot. It follows a certain family through time and tells their stories, which will be written by a different author.
I’ve never written like this before but have wanted to try. The most common doubts have cluttered my mind: Can I do it? Will I write a story as good as the others? Will my writing voice be as strong as the published authors? Will this style of writing hinder my creativity?
Yep, lots of doubts. But I’m determined.
Artistic gifts are living entities within us. As we grow and learn, they wrap around our insides, bonding to bone and muscle. Some of us may have been blessed with more than one gift, but only one will speak the loudest.
My gift is storytelling. The art of weaving ideas and fantasy characters into an unforgettable story is what I do the best. I love every second. I was born into a multi-talented family and from a young age I tapped into this wealth.
My parents decided when I was six, I was going to be a musician. I sang in school plays, church choirs, played piano, and vied for first-chair flute. Music was and is my constant. The notes surround me when I’m lonely and snuggle against my senses like a soft blanket. When I hurt or anger spews from every orifice (a perfect imitation of Medusa) I have music.
Writing though is my drive–something within that pushes and wrestles its way out (not unlike childbirth but less messy). My dreams become reality and I live through my stories. My grandmother’s advice time and again comes to mind…”Heidi, you can be anything you want if you just put your mind to it.” Smart woman.
Writing is my life. My drive. I sit down and the stories pour out of my mind. Sometimes so fast my hand can’t keep up. If life—kids and laundry—didn’t bombard me, I could write a book a month. Well, maybe a month and a half.
There are times though, when trying to get published is overwhelming. I realized early in my writing journey that editors and agents are human with inhuman jobs. They have good and bad days and aren’t perfect. Unfortunately, because of the publishing industry’s demands, the author is expected to be faultless.
As authors, we dream of incredible stories and bring them to life for the reader. Mystery, inspirational, or the darker, grittier paranormal/urban fantasy all drive the reader’s imaginations and ultimately push them to higher goals. The human being strives for something more, something better. New job, better lifestyle, and even love keep the readers’ hope alive. Books are the catalyst for many things. And, for the authors they create an outlet for creativity, a way to connect with readers, and a legacy.
Writing keeps me going. Keeps me sane. I conform daily to those who’ve traveled this road before me. I absorb their advice, their techniques, and their aspirations. I never wonder if I will be published, only when.