She was beginning to understand that daydreaming about writing a novel and actually writing it were two very different things. -Cathy Holton, Summer in the South, p. 73
People ask me how long I've wanted to write. Truthfully, always. The desire to write has been the inevitable outcome of this lifelong reader. In reading, my imagination sparks with ideas and comes up with alternate endings and continuations.
It's only natural I'd dream of writing my own story someday. I'd often wonder how readers would react to my words and what my story would inspire them to feel. But that's all it ever was: the dream of someday.
It's frighteningly easy to sit on our dreams.
The idea behind my WIP (work in progress) came about 3 years ago. I remember confessing my dream to my best friend shortly thereafter. What if I actually wrote a book? She told me to go for it. Then she told me to dedicate my novel to her. She's nothing if not humble.
I wrote down a few ideas and began figuring out my characters. Then placed the notebook to the side. Still the idea lingered in the back of my mind.
February 2010 I decided anew to write a novel. 1500 words poured forth, an interesting beginning, before I became consumed with the tasks of moving out of state.
It took another year before I picked it back up, swearing to myself that this time I'd see it through. I started over, eventually incorporating some of those initial words. In my 32 Things, I challenged myself to write 5 chapters this year. Writing the whole thing seemed too lofty a goal given the timeframe and my work-related limitations.
And yet, last week I finished the 9th chapter. 100 pages. Almost 37,000 words. By the time you read this, the word count will be higher and the plot more complex.
When I read Summer in the South, where we meet a character writing her own first novel, the quote at the top stopped me in my tracks. It is indeed one thing to dream about writing a novel and another to actually do it.
My false starts and rabbit trails, however, led me to this moment. My story is richer and my writing has improved in the intervening years. Quitting my day job freed me to tell this tale and to believe I'll finish it before the year ends.
Even on days when the word count trickles and I question whether I have it in me to write a complete and interesting novel, I press forward.
My characters talk to me and I laugh out loud about plot twists. This, all this, lay dormant within me. But no longer.
Now I actually do the work. I will see this dream through. I have no promise of what will happen once A Storied Life is complete but I believe in it.
More importantly, I believe in myself. I'm living my own storied life.
And that is a gift.
