My Novel Journey Thus Far…
A painfully slow start … and finally, the time is right to get moving!
I’m not exactly sure when the dream first settled into my heart. I had seen snippets of it now and then while fighting my way out of an abusive and unhappy upbringing and a chaotic and turbulent start to my adult life.
But I do remember a clear image surfacing by the time I was in my late 20s. Suddenly, there it was in my head, a two-storey, Wedgewood blue, Victorian house with a wrap-around porch, overlooking the ocean. There were some trees nearby but not another soul — or house — for miles. In this vision, I lived in that house and spent my days writing novels.
I’d barely written anything besides grocery lists to that point, although I did dabble in writing stories as a child. I adored the few books I had, and read them so often I’m surprised I didn’t wear the ink off the pages.
Fast forward at least a few decades…
I met a woman who had seen a few short pieces I’d written. She pushed me to write a novel, about which I knew nothing. But I came up with a storyline and away I went. I wrote 95,000 words in 8 days and produced a 362-page novel. Every evening, I’d read that day’s writing to my daughter and frequently found myself saying, “I don’t remember writing this.”
