Hard

As with any new endeavor, the hardest part is always the beginning.

For a writer, once you manage to put some words down, the rest tend to line up without a fuss. (Well, mostly.)

I’ve been a writer since I was a teen. I loved reading at a young age and remember looking forward to losing myself in another one of the classics whenever I had the chance. Getting a library card as a pre-teen felt like winning the lottery. For a long time I imagined holding a book in my hands that began in my own dreams and was lovingly crafted until it became a physical thing that could be held, shared and kept for all time. Those were good years and the seeds of storytelling took root early. As happens with many of us, the years came and went in a flash and life took a few unfortunate turns and plot twists I hadn't counted on. I'll have to write about those times, someday. I departed from those turbulent lands and the years continued to go by.

Like most of my peers, I soon lost myself to the world of routine, work and bills. The longing ache for realms within had become an accepted part of life until one fateful day. On that day I looked up and saw my 40th birthday looming before me. I realized it had been years…decades since I had followed the stories that danced along my peripheral vision while going about my day. The realization shook me hard. I was unprepared to see my oldest dream flickering in my mind like a fading candle I didn't realize had been forgotten.

At that moment, I made up my mind to give myself a special gift for the coming b-day: I would either put forth the effort to write a book at long last or admit to myself that it wasn’t in the cards… and give up on my dream altogether.

On November 1st, I started writing.

I wrote with no plan or forethought. I just sat down and wrote one word at a time, agonizing over every sentence and every strained chapter. November is known as National Novel Writing Month and it felt right to take up the challenge. The month was like a marathon of the mind from the first day. I worked a full time job and spent most nights writing the book in a haze of caffeine and panic. The story took shape slowly. The characters reluctantly came to life and I crafted the tale over thirty days until the last day when I surpassed the 50,000 word goal and crossed the finish line with a completed book.

The next morning brought me a realization. I had accomplished what I dreamed. After countless years gone by, I had unearthed a small jewel from my imagination. I could feel the old stirrings of ideas and possibilities taking flight inside me, revealing a truth I had all but forgotten. Writing had always been and would always be my passion. I decided then and there that I would never stop following my dreams. I realized I had been looking for my purpose over the years and always felt something was missing. When I realized I would someday bind the tale I created in paper and share it with the world over, I knew no one could ever discourage me again. I write because it brings me joy, it brings me purpose and most of all, it is my passion.

Since leaving that fateful birthday behind me I have written several more books. My writing has improved from that first story and will work hard to ensure it continues to do so, for I’ve rediscovered my passion, my purpose and with it, my destiny.

Today, I continue to work every day and write whenever I get the chance. The weekends are split between hikes along the California trails and creating worlds. I enjoy writing more than I could have hoped and love to share each of my tales.

As I fan the flames of creativity every day, writing, drawing, taking pictures and designing cover art and illustrations, I also write updates to share. This now includes a blog. Just like with my first book, the hardest part is beginning. I look forward to sharing as I continue developing as a writer.

This is just the beginning, after all. So thankfully, the hard part is over.