So here’s the skinny. I’m a 32 year-old mom of 3 and I am also a writer. I wrote my first book in the 6th grade – it filled 2 yellow, legal steno pads cover to cover, front and back. There were many hijinks involving spaghetti and gum in hair mixed with peanut butter. Food was very funny to my 11 year-old self evidently. Between 11 and 32 there have been endless stories, poems, reports, scripts, picture books, articles etc, etc. The problem is – no novel.
So what’s the issue? There are a few. The publishing industry is a hairy, scary beast that haunts my dreams. I’ve submitted a couple of smaller items and received the scathing rejection letter – which was, in reality, not scathing at all – only primly polite, but it felt scathing all the same. But in all honesty, even I have to admit I’ve never really put it all out there, made it happen, taken my stand and the publishing industry by storm. My frenetic, compulsive brain has produced about 75 different tales to date. But that novel . . . THE novel, well it’s not exactly written yet. I have shoe boxes, plastic tubs, college ruled notebooks, post-its, napkins – and even yellow legal steno pads filled with amazing ideas, starts, ends and scenes, what I do not have is that novel.
So here is my thought. I’m going to take a little journey inside myself and I’m going to write. I’m going to take the 4 current pages of my favorite idea at the moment and I’m going to become the novelist I fantasize that I am.
If you’re of a mind, please take the journey with me. Write a novel of your own or simply read along and laugh as I flounder. I’ll keep you updated on my progress and you can do the same.
The SomewhatSortof Novelist