I won’t be posting part 2 of my “Indie Publishing” series. Currently, I’m deep in the writing and editing trenches, preparing a piece for this Saturday’s Birmingham Noir at the Bar (June 7th at 6pm).
As I prepare to take the stage and read my story, I find myself reflecting on how far I’ve come as a writer-turned-author. What started as a little side hobby—an emotional outlet—has become such an important part of my life. Writing has given me something to look forward to, a community, friends, and yes, I’ll sound cheesy here: a sense of purpose.
My mind keeps returning to the first Noir at the Bar I ever attended. Whether it was accident or fate is hard to say, but I had no intention of going to that event six years ago. I called my dad, and we decided, why not? We work hard—we work a lot—so why not take a few hours to let our hair down?
We met at the Wild Roast coffee shop, and for two hours, we had our minds completely blown. I sat there in wonder, thinking about my own writing and asking myself: if they can do it, why can’t I? What’s stopping me… besides me?
The next day I was on a high that I still cannot describe. I broke out old, worn journals and combed through all my writing files stashed away on my HP. I had a fire; I started writing again—and unlike before, I began to take writing seriously. I am taking it seriously.
I feel as if I’m no longer floundering. Now, in my early thirties, my feet are finally on solid ground.
It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and one that taught me you have to take chances in this life because you never know what’s waiting on the other side. It can be bad, or it can be a whole lot of good.
My attempts at participating in NaNoWriMo…haven’t always gone as planned.
With this not so new year and ,most importantly, a new me I think I can conquer NaNoWriMo 2024. Okay, maybe not conquer necessarily but I can definitely inflict some serious word count wounds and finish up Bloody Endings: Book 2 of the Coven Origins Series. The highly anticipated sequel to Taming Armand: Book 1 of the Coven Origins Series (yes, a shameless plug is not beneath me, lol).
In order to take you down this path to finally and actively participating in NaNoWriMo I must set the scene. So, I will need to take you back to October 2022 as the treasured and much anticipated writing month of November was looming large. It’s a time of the year where writers seasoned and new make something akin to a resolution, a challenge, if you will to write 50K of a novel. Or to start or finish that manuscript that has been sitting idly in the word processor of your choice or stuffed away in a notebook collecting dust.
That year I had finally narrowed down a focus to one manuscript and only days before November 1st I had broken the 10K word count. Talk about elation. I was finally doing it. I was finally writing a book. I was ready and enthusiastic, this would be my first NaNoWriMo, and I was ready and more than willing to give it all I had. My beady black eyes were set on exceeding my personal goal of 40k by the end of November.
But fate or rather my body had other disruptive plans.
Illness happened and not just a bout of the flu but something that not only set me back but had me lying at Death’s door, or rather I like to think I was in his driveway. I like to believe I wasn’t that close, but the encyclopedia of medical notes and list of diagnoses say I was closer than I will ever be without actually have died.
So, while I awaited on an official diagnosis and subsequently my fate curled in a hospital bed my manuscript sat on my laptop at home far out of my grasp. Long story short, I couldn’t participate.
I was heartbroken that my first real attempt at gaining major ground on my manuscript was derailed by my unruly body. My treasonous immune system had the final say and NaNoWriMo 2022 was a no go.
The year 2023 hits and I made progress. I was well enough to start trying to bring some normalcy to my life. I was back in my room with my cat, my books and iced coffee. The year and my health seemed to be going well.
Although I did not hit the 40k I had promised myself, I am grateful to have walked away with my life and a renewed sense of self and a rededication to my writing.
Then Life once again lifed.
My mother suddenly became ill, my grandmother’s cognitive abilities continued and rapidly declined. My own health was stagnant. I wasn’t getting better but I hadn’t gotten worse and took that small victory, and gasping for breath, ran for the hills.
Ultimately, Mother lost her battle with cancer leaving behind a heartbroken author that didn’t want to write. Prior to my mother’s death, Babe my beloved four legged feline confidant lost her own battle. Completing the old saying ‘Death comes in threes’ was Granny. After months of forgetting, she too threw in the towel seeking a place where she could finally remember.
I grieved.
I am still grieving.
Eeven as a year will be marked for each of their deaths. But the will and the spirit to write has returned. The passion that was lost has returned and I plan to take full advantage of it.
