Hiding From Myself

For as long as I can remember I have loved writing and taken every opportunity that I can to do it. When I was five I would send my mum letters in the post and watch on with excitement as she opened the envelope and read the words I had written to her.

My love for writing still exists, even as I write these words, my brain is racing ahead to the next word, the next idea, while my poor fingers try to keep up. However, somewhere along the way I grew up and with the more mature years came self-doubt and worry of what other people thought of me and more traumatising for a sensitive soul like myself, what they thought about my writing.

I stepped away from the keyboard and convinced myself that being a writer wasn’t for me. I mean come on, there are plenty of amazing writers out there, they’ve already said it all and far better than I ever could Where on earth did I get off, thinking that I could stand on the bookshelves next to them?

I decided to focus on getting a proper job, one with purpose and a steady income. I became a secondary school English teacher. I have a lot of respect for the people who teach and don’t let the bureaucratic nonsense drag them down but it wasn’t for me. I lasted a year. To be honest, talking about other people’s writing when you’re really itching to do some of your own can be a little bit soul destroying.

So, I decided to write the book that had been brewing inside my for a while. A simple tale of love and relationships, set against the backdrop of a welsh town, London and the Cotswolds. Oh my God, did I love the writing process. Getting to know Madeline, my main character, seeing her take on a life of her as she moved in directions I hadn’t initially envisaged for her. I finished the first draft last November after taking part in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). My husband started to question what was next now that the book was finished, would I send it to agents, try and get a publisher or self-publish? My answer to all of those questions is that it wasn’t anywhere near ready for any of that. When family and friends ask I tell them I am working on the second draft. A process with an indeterminable length. The truth is that I have become too afraid to take the next step. That is until my husband and I had a rather uncomfortable discussion about where this was all heading. I finally admitted that I didn’t know. This book does need an end point though because honestly, I am slowly starting to resent it for the amount of space it takes up in my brain.

So, we came up with the idea to just get it out there. One chapter at a time, published by myself for free, for anyone who’s interested. This isn’t about becoming a best-selling author, this is about becoming a writer, feeling the fear and doing it anyway.

I’m going to post one chapter, every two weeks. You can view it on this here blog or you can head on over to Inkitt to see it. It will not be perfect, it will not be polished but it will be out there. People other than my husband will be able to read it and that is what matters. I will finally stop hiding behind my screen and I let the inner five year old in my out and let the world see my work.

Not everyone will like it, I’m sure there will be plenty who don’t care much for it. But you know what? That’s ok. I am aware that the sun will still rise in the morning and my dog will still expect to be fed and walked and cuddled and life will go on in the same way. Except for one small difference, I will be a published writer. When people ask me about my work, I can point them to this blog and tell them to have a read.

And as terrifying as that thought is, I can’t actually wait.