I’ve always wanted to be a writer. It started with the very vivid memories of reading my first Nancy Drew mystery. I can almost touch those memories, the emotions of being engrossed in the story, and being unable to wait for the next episode.
I remember the joy of getting my first library card, of riding my bicycle to the library, my book list in my pocket as I searched for the next edition that I hadn’t read yet.
The library was place you could travel when you couldn’t travel in your real life.
I always had books. And I always wanted to be a writer.
I was that kid who wrote a four page story when my classmates wrote one page. I was that kid who took all English classes my senior year of school. I was that kid who had an active imagination, who could scare myself or make myself laugh and I always wanted to be a writer.
Somewhere along the path, I stopped writing stories, my goal became plan B. I would find a writing position at some company until I could concentrate on plan A.
I got married. I struggled to find a job. I struggled to have children. My children have issues. And one day I realized, that I forgot I had always dreamed of being a writer. That day I remembered.
It has been a combination of soaring to the most confident you could be to falling to the lowest you could feel. I have had good days, I have had bad days where I could barely speak without crying. I have decided to quit.
And yet, I’m like a gambler who keeps saying, one more, one more hand, one more pull of the slot handle. Just one more. For me it’s just one more ad, one more post, another marketing meeting, one more edit. Maybe then it will all come together.
It hasn’t yet.
I’ve been trying to find a job because the realization that this is something I can do for a living quickly fades away. There aren’t many sales, and the cost of publishing a book and marketing it, frankly is a lot.
Finding a job isn’t easy, and not just because the pandemic is sweeping across the planet, but because, I’ve got 20 years of writing experience but it just isn’t enough. There are holes in my background, I was a stay at home mom on and off for years. The jobs I had were smaller scale. Or maybe I just don’t know how to best sell myself.
It doesn’t matter much as I sit in a new crossroads, as I begin to think of the rest of my life in terms of what will make me happy, what I need to do to have a satisfying career, and home life. I find myself needing to quit being a writing hobbyist. Someone who’s just writing with no financial gain. And yet, I haven’t been able to quit.
I have ideas. I’m not sure if I’m up to the challenge. What I do know is this, you cannot succeed if you don’t try. And you can’t succeed if you don’t put your heart and soul into something. Maybe you can try something new.
I should quit trying to write for a living and write for me. But in this job market at this time, I’m finding that it really doesn’t matter. I write because it makes me happy. I’m getting better at it. It’s the only way I know. One foot in front of the other and keep moving.
For me, I hope one day, I have all that I’ve ever dreamt about. One day. Keep fighting. Stay safe and stay home.
Sheryl’s books: The Day of First Sun, Black Market, Wizard War, Prophecy can be found on Amazon. The series finale, The Rise of the Black Market, comes out July, 2020.