Then I joined the local writers group, a lovely gathering of grannies and poppies. Slowly I started to relax among these other writes, but all we had in common was writing. It was like two different species trying to hold a conversation.
This wasn’t the end. I let slip one day about the novels I had tucked away under the bed and one lovely lady (not a granny) decided to educate me about self-publishing, introduce me to successful authors and encouraged me to be part of the writers’ community.
However, I was still awkward, unsure what to say to these brilliant women. At the following romance author talk I sat at the front, talked to the attendees, approached the three presenting authors and nearly became mute in the process.
They smiled and politely asked me if I wanted to be a writer. Again there was no connection. To them I was yet another wannabe writer, another face that melds into the background, another girl to forget.
I’ve always believed that creating a story is a solo journey and I love it. But it seems in order to be a published writer you need to belong to the community where everyone supports, critiques and promotes each other.
I’m hearing the same answers to the same questions repeated. Everyone has been brilliant in taking the time to speak with me but if I continue to ask questions I’m not going to be published. Maybe because the answers are repeating I have all the information I need for now and need to do something, stumble on my own and get my confidence before asking another question.
So it’s time to stop worrying about success and turning writing into a career, I’m not grown up enough for that!