Writing a Book: A Dream I Didn’t Know I Had

I never considered being an author.  So, what made me think, 'Hey, I should write a book? '  It wasn't something I strived for. This article delves into how I embarked on a journey to fulfil an unknown dream and how I came to draft my first novel, although it has not yet been published.

The unexpected catalyst

In 2013, I turned 40.  My life turned upside down when I was made redundant.  This was the first of many redundancies over the next three years, resulting from the market downturn in marketing roles.  The market was rocky, and full-time roles crumbled, while contract roles were short-term, offering no security.  These were hard times, and as I travelled through the roller coaster of emotions, my mind started to wander.  As if I were a child, I’d imagine myself being employed as a great marketing guru; I’d become a hero for an organisation, shaping its most successful campaign.  Slowly, the imagination pulled back, and I looked at myself and the women around me and how far we had come, even if standing on the shoulders of our foremothers.  I started to think about the realistic side of being a working mother.

The birth of an idea

Whether working or not, routine was important.  Of a morning, I was out of bed by 5am, I’d shower, do my hair in heated curlers, and then make the family lunches.  I would be the only person in the family who was out of bed, and it was a peaceful time.  It was just me and my thoughts – whatever they were. 

Over time, a story began to form in my mind about the routine of a woman who was very similar to me.  She manifested from who I was, how I saw myself, my insecurities, the drumbeat of my life, and the fact that there was little spontaneity.  I found myself reminiscing about my 20s, when I enjoyed doing things I wanted to do, with little impact on others, making last-minute decisions for weekends away, going to the theatre, and partying.  But then responsibility sets in. As I considered how I viewed myself, I broadened my perspective to include listening to other women in my life, and most shared similar thoughts.  It occurred to me that insecurities persist throughout our lives; some remain from our teenage years, some shift in their meaning, and new ones emerge.

Eventually, I took my thoughts and wrote a short story about the woman I had created in my mind, detailing her morning routine, her perception of her body, and the thoughts that swirled through her head, and I penned it on paper (well, typed it into Word). 

The Writers Rush

Writing creatively again was exhilarating.

No reports, no emails - just pure storytelling. I was hooked. I would think of an event in my life that was funny and would write a story using this character, elaborating on what happened, taking imaginary licence, and making the story more interesting.  It was hard, though.  I hadn’t written something creative in over 25 years, but I persevered; it was something new and made me feel good.  Eventually, I had six very short stories that could be pinned together.  I asked myself, ' Why not try to write a book? ' 

Battling insecurities

I was in new territory and didn’t want anyone to know what I was doing.  Judgement, ridicule, and constant questions.  Are you writing every day?  Can I read it?  My gauge not to care what people thought was depleted. 

The internal battle in my mind was horrific.  I can tell you that three years with no solid employment can erode your confidence, making any comment from someone a great invitation for self-doubt to arise.  Don’t get me wrong; I have the most supportive husband; boy, was he supportive, and our two beautiful daughters, compassionate friends and family were there. The empathy was on the mark; however, no one could truly relate, not even those who had been made redundant at one time.  None had been unemployed as long as I had, and all had the security of owning their home.  We didn’t, which meant no equity.  I was clinging to my sanity by a thread, drowning in uncertainty. No job, mounting debt, and with every overdue bill and job rejection, my self-worth eroded a little more.  Sounds like perfect fodder for a book, right?

As a note, I was eventually employed and have been with the company for eight years.

Short Stories to a Novel

Upon reviewing my short stories, I noticed that they could be combined. I started from the beginning and reworked each of them to mesh into the early stages of a book, introducing characters. I wrote as if I were in the pages, jumping between the characters and having no idea where the story was going. I was improvising on a page. It was fun!

After six months, I had written several chapters.  But were they any good?  Would someone want to read this?  How would I know if it was good?  I did what any insecure person would do – I asked some friends, like any true friends, who would brutally tear apart what I had written. But, they all came back loving it, saying how much they related to the character and enjoyed the story.

Great!  Even relief.  But I knew nothing about writing a book.  I wasn’t a Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, William Shakespeare or Miles Franklin, who were natural storytellers and didn’t do a degree in how to tell one.  I needed help.  So, I signed up for a course.

A quick commercial break

A quick side note for those who feel they need to let their inner writer out but don’t know how to do so: my opinion is to be open if you choose to work through a writer’s course.  Don’t feel that what they say is law.  The course I did was very good.  It provided a guide on how to structure a story.  The problem was that this particular course taught a formulaic process – literally an A+B=C guide.  That didn’t work for me, as I didn’t know how the story would go.  I just wrote, and the story flowed.  I couldn’t predetermine what was going to happen.  My mentor and I worked out a solution, which involved me reverse-engineering the process and reviewing what I wrote to ensure I had met the primary requirements of the formula.

So what happened next?

After 10 months, I had a novel!  Well, a shell of one.  It took me another six months to hone it, and then I shared it with someone I used to work with; she was a qualified Editor.  Lyndy was terrific; she provided editorial feedback, questioned elements, and offered guidance on parts of the story.

Back to the drawing board, I went for parts of my story. Many parts had to be rewritten.  I then put my story aside for a month and re-read and redrafted it.  Again, I put it aside and then redrafted it.  I was going cross-eyed, and with every review, I found holes in the story, something I didn’t like, and I would rewrite. The changes would impact other chapters, which would need redrafting. It was circular, and self-doubt about how good a story was creeping in.

I didn’t have much money, so I ran my writing through software to catch any grammatical slip-ups.  Great invention, but again, in my opinion, don’t believe every suggestion!  It doesn’t understand idiosyncrasies, terms, or colloquialisms.  Sometimes, the software is literal in how a word is to be used, so when I use it, each recommendation is taken with a grain of salt.  

Taking the Publishing Leap

Finally, I felt my story was ready. I took the plunge and submitted it to a publisher.  After three months, I received my first rejection.  Although disappointing, I was grateful to have received an email. Many say they won’t respond.

I reread my story.  With fresh eyes, new issues were found that needed to be fixed.  Resubmitted.  Rejected.  Review, fix, resubmit.  After a number of submissions to publishers, knowing full well that maybe my story wasn’t the ‘it thing’ they were looking for at the moment, I decided that I would ask for a manuscript assessment.  I can be a pragmatic person; maybe my story isn’t what the market is looking for.  Maybe my story isn’t a publisher's choice. However, I am going to take every opportunity to ensure that I do everything possible to get published.

Reflections & Aspirations

It has been 12 years since I sat down and wrote a two-page story about a woman with many insecurities and the morning thoughts that dance in her mind, which evolved into a 93000-word novel.  Was it worth it?  Yes, I utilised my skills and brought back the creativity that had been suppressed deep within my mind for far too long.

Will I write another novel?  Absolutely, I already am.  Just because a publisher may not take my book doesn’t mean the dream is over.  And in that case, I may follow Robert Frost’s example.

Writing gives me purpose.  Though I like my day job, I don’t love it.  It doesn’t give me the satisfaction it did 15-20 years ago.  But, like everyone, I still have to pay the bills; however, writing fills my soul.  Perhaps my novel will never find its way onto bookstore shelves. Maybe it will. But writing has given me something more valuable – purpose.  And at this point in time, that’s enough.