My first ever "the end".

My first ever “the end”.

Have you ever wanted to write a story? A long one. A novel. (Novella.) Tens of thousands of words, hundreds of hours, weeks of hand cramps — it’s intense. It’s not something most people even think about starting, and for those that do the journey can be grueling.

Nobody ever told me writing would be easy. (Okay, a lot of people told me writing would be easy. But how many of them are actually writers? Go on, guess.)

The first time I seriously wrote an entire story, I wrote it by hand. In hindsight that may not have been my best idea, because I was writing for like 10 hours a day and every night my hands hurt a little bit more.

It was totally worth it, though, when I got to the end.

“The End.”

There are few things in life that make me truly joyful. Not that I’m not happy most of the time, or that I don’t enjoy things. I do. But there is a unique kind of feeling that I only experience when I write “the end” after a long story.

I know a lot of people who say they’re writers. Most of them don’t write. Of the people I know who actually write stories, almost no one I know has ever finished one.

Except me.

When I finished my first novel-length manuscript, I immediately sent it to two or three close family members slash cheerleaders. This was a mistake. (Sorry, Mom. No more first drafts for you.) Not because they were mean about it — quite the opposite — but because they are at heart readers, and readers don’t always make good editors.

I was at least aware enough, luckily, to realize that my manuscript was not ready for publication. I sat on it for a few years, trying to edit it on occasion, and going back and forth on what kind of changes needed to be made. I put writing aside to go back to school (and now I have a degree to show for it. Yay me!) and I am, as ever, in search for a “real job”.


Can I tell you a secret? (Just between us.)

I’m on a mission.

I’m on a mission to write my own damn novel, but I’m also on a mission to help other people who are teetering on the edge between people-who-call-themselves-writers and people-who-write. I’m on a mission to help you, if you have ever dreamed of telling a story but have yet to actually start.

I’m on a mission to help you, hipsters who sit in coffee shops and spend at least as much time trying to look like a writer (pause, sip decaf soy latte, stare out the window pensively as if contemplating humanity) as you do actually writing.

I’m on a mission to help you, overeager college student who participates in NaNoWriMo a week and a half late every November without winning because you can’t commit between October twenty-something and Halloween.

I’m on a mission to help you, soccer mom/retired grandfather/midlife crisis-er who tells everyone in your immediate family and group of friends that this time, yes this time, you are actually going to write that book of yours.

So here I am.

Writer. Blogger. Fairy Godmother in training.

Write with me.

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