About six months ago, I finished writing my first novel. Just completing it was quite an achievement considering I had been pecking away at it for over five years. (It was supposed to be done before I was 40 so I was only a little behind schedule.)
Well, I’d like to think I’ve made up for the delay this week because I’ve just finished writing my second book in record time. I feel like I’ve found a sweet spot in my creativity and have been happier for it.
Today I turned 43. It’s not a significant birthday or a milestone, it just marks the passing of another year. However, this has been a good year so I’m going to think of this as a good birthday.
I’m not sure what my 44th year has in store for me. I’d like to think it will involve some movement towards publication of my novels, but even if it doesn’t, I will keep writing. Writing has become part of who I am, something I have to do every day or else I feel incomplete.
My pledge for this year is to have more confidence in my writing. Although I’ve had a lot of success with my non-fiction work, my current instinct is to be dismissive of my fiction writing because I have yet to land a publication deal. I still find it hard to call myself a writer.
What I need to accept is that I’m a writer because I write, the same way I am a knitter because I knit. It is the creative process that is important, not the sale of the product.
I’ve had a lovely start to my day. My boys took me out to brunch and I was feted in style. Now I intend to relax, and of course, get some writing in.
Happy birthday to me!