I’ve wanted to be an author since I was 8 years old. I had so much fun writing stories and so many compliments on them, I decided that that was it – I knew exactly what I was going to do when I grew up.
But I grew up and bills were due. Rejection hurts even when you’re prepared for it. And I’ve written five drafts of a young adult novel and it still doesn’t feel good enough to seek out a literary agent. I’m not coming up with new novel or short story ideas. I’m semi-interested in old ideas I still have written down. But some days, I don’t even feel like a writer. So I’m not sure I’ll ever be an author.
It feels like my dream is dead, but I think it’s actually only deferred. In 2019, I was planning on having some writer friends review my latest draft just in case my perfectionism was lying to me about how good the draft actually was. I was also thinking about finding beta readers to get more feedback. I’ve already had an editor look at a previous draft so I wanted a different perspective. But in January 2019, I unexpectedly became pregnant and that threw my entire year off.
A lot of things were paused in preparation for the baby. Along with pregnancy hormones, I had other personal issues that wrecked my emotions and focus. I was hoping that after the baby was born, I would be in a better place emotionally and mentally to go back to accomplishing my dreams. But the transition hasn’t been as smooth as I would like and I’m still having to figure a lot of stuff out.
Deep down, I still get excited about being an author whether it’s for poetry or fiction. I think I just need to defer my dream a little longer and take better care of myself. I need to put less pressure on myself when it comes to writing. Maybe just try writing for me and not worrying about sharing it. Not worrying about multiple drafts or plot holes or if the story makes sense. Just running away with an idea and reminding myself why I fell in love with writing in the first place.