Now that I'd made the decision to write a novel and set some goals for story, it was time to figure out what the heck it would be about. At this point, I began to pace
around my living room, talking to myself. I tried to think of a story I’d like
to read. I can’t remember exactly how long I wandered around most likely
looking like a fool, before an idea entered my mind.
What if
a man had to get his wife to fall in love with him again without her knowing he
was her husband? What if she thought he was dead? Huh?
That’d be an interesting story. Yeah, I’d like to read that. Now I just had to
figure out a scenario where this might happen. Under what circumstances would
this seem plausible? I’m not into paranormal and read very little science
fiction. One of the goals on my list was to write a story that was “real,” or
at least seemed within the realm of possibility to a reader.
So with that one simple
thought, I began to create characters and weave a story around my original
idea. I told no
one I was writing a book. Anyone who knew me would either laugh or think
I’d gone completely crazy. Later on, I’d liken my decision to write a book to my
daughter, Mercedes, (who is all girl) coming home and declaring her decision to
become a professional fighter when she grows up.
I was more than surprised to
find that as soon as I began writing, the story developed at an incredible
pace. The words flowed from a place in my mind previously unexplored. I
continued to write in the wee hours of the night when others slept. There were
a few times when my wife would wander into the kitchen in the middle of the
night wondering what I was still doing awake. When this happened, I’d give her
some casual excuse.
Reading exercise or nutrition
articles, preparing a new workout program for a client, or a similar excuse was
used. There was never a time when she gave my excuses a second thought, which
both surprised and relieved me.
I worked a full time job which
required between forty five and fifty five hours each week. In addition, I
trained two or three clients as well. Each of these had sessions three times
weekly. Of course there were also my four children who I tried to spend as much
time as possible with. On average, I slept two to three hours a night. Despite
my hectic schedule, when I sat down to write in the evenings, I was passionate
and full of energy and excitement. For the first time in my life, I’d found
something that seemed to encompass me.
When I was awake, I couldn’t
wait to write, when I slept, I dreamt about my story and often awoke with a new
idea fresh on my mind.
I did my best to remain
balanced with work, family and writing, although I’m sure there were times I
failed. I chose to cut out things I felt wouldn’t affect my relationships. I
continued with family walks every day, family night and movie night each week.
Instead, I didn’t watch television or read for pleasure. I stopped going to the
gym and lifting weights. Many times, I’d forgo a meal so I could get more
writing done. During the time it took me to write my story, I lost twenty
pounds and I’m sure my desire to write sometimes bordered on obsession.
After four months, I confided
in a friend, had her read what I’d written so far and asked for truly honest
feedback. I gave her full permission to tell me exactly what she thought of my
work. I didn’t want to give my all to something if I lacked the talent
necessary to achieve my goal. My friend also had many talents closely related
to writing. She has a degree in journalism and broadcasting.
After reading the fruits of my
labor, she was enthralled with my story. Her greatest disappointment was that
it wasn’t finished yet.
There were many technical
corrections to make but overall, it was good. Most importantly, (at least to
me), she said the story was fantastic. In her opinion, it was better than many
books currently in stores.
She also instructed me on some of
the vocational mistakes I was making which helped me a great deal. However the
most important things she gave me was confidence; a belief that perhaps I had
the talent to write a novel. She also helped me have faith and to begin to believe
that perhaps this was something I was supposed to do.
After six months of spending
almost every night glued to my computer, I told my wife I was writing a novel.
I feared she thought I was spending all those hours surfing provocative videos
on the internet. Looking back, I shouldn’t have been surprised at her reaction,
however, at the time I was. I’d expected surprise. However, I didn’t expect her
to have an attitude of indifference. There was also little desire to read what
I’d worked so hard for half a year to create. It was like, “Oh, that’s nice.” From then on when I brought the subject up, it was met
with either distain or negativity. Many times she felt the need to
educate me on the statistics of successful authors compared to failures. It was
disheartening, but I tried to let it strengthen my resolve to become a
successful author, and was determined to work even harder than before. Writing
a love story while in the midst of a deteriorating marriage was ironic to say
the least.
Thankfully, I continued to
receive support from a family friend, who gave me encouragement on an almost
daily basis. As soon as I finished a chapter, I was required to email it to her
immediately.
There were many nights when all
I wanted to do was sleep, but her insistence kept me writing. I lost count of
how many times I was fast asleep on my kitchen table when the sun came up.
Along the way, I told others
about my “project.” Soon, I had a dozen people waiting to find out how the
story ended.
I understand when the people I
knew growing up were shocked to learn I’d written two full-length novels and
was currently working on my third. I know they were more than a little
apprehensive about the quality of book I could have
possibly written, but there was nothing more satisfying than hearing those same
people, after reading some of my work, throw out comments like, “This is really
good! You
wrote this?”
Yep, it’s true. I wrote it.
Believe it, or not.
It took me thirteen months to
complete the first two books in my Second Chances series. Once I was finished
with my story I had no idea what to do next. After it was all said and done, my
book was just under five hundred thousand words. I was so naïve, I had no idea
how many pages that equaled. I didn’t even know what genre my story fit into.
In addition, my story had no name at that point.
I began to research what to do
next. I discovered, (to my initial embarrassment), that my book belonged in the
romantic suspense genre.
Desperately seeking guidance, I
explored many different professional writing organizations and joined the one I
thought would offer me the best opportunity to gain the knowledge I needed to
continue to follow my dream. With more than a little apprehension, the organization
I chose to join was the Romance Writers of America. It was one of the best decisions I could have made.
It was no surprise that at the
first monthly meeting I attended, (which was four hours away), I was the only
male in the audience. Great, as if I didn’t
already feel out of place in a room of writers. The looks of confusion were
many and I was asked if I was in the right place more than once.
I didn’t talk to many women
that first meeting. Uncomfortable doesn’t begin to describe the way I felt. To
make matters worse, apparently there were two meetings each month, one right
after the other. The early meeting was for those who were professional writers
or those seeking to become full time writers.
“Are you published? Have you
submitted to an agent?” I was asked these questions and more as they tried to
determine why I was at the “Pro” meeting. I thought only athletes and actors
had agents, so when I responded with, “What’s an agent?” at least three sets of
eyes rolled simultaneously at me.
By next month’s meeting, I had
fulfilled the requirements which allowed me to become “Pro” and therefore
qualify to attend the first meeting. Eventually, these women realized that
although I was very much a rookie, I was a talented author who possessed a
strong desire to learn the trade of writing.
The more I learned, the more I
realized I had no idea what I was doing. I found an editor and began working
hard alongside her. It was her job to find all my mistakes. It quickly became
evident I’d given her a lot to work with. I split my story into two books and
cut out over two hundred thousand words. I came up with a name for my two
books, designed (with the help of a designer), a cover, got a website, author
facebook page and even a twitter account under my author name. It was a lot of
work.
As a male writer of romance, I
was also advised to use my initials instead of my name. In doing so, I'm able
to avoid any discrimination readers may have based on my gender as a male
romance writer is such a rarity.
I had to write blurbs for my
books to go on the book jackets, tag lines and even an “about the author” page
for my website. I still think writing the story is the easiest part of the
process.
Still, I was a hungry student
of both writing and publishing and within a year, had my first book published.
I’ve even been the guest speaker at a Romance Writer’s monthly meeting.
It has been both a fun-filled
and trying experience, and I’ve been tested extensively in my life since I
started this new career path. But, by discovering a talent I never knew I had,
I’ve found a new passion which will be a part of my life for as long as I live.
I don’t know where this road will lead. I hope to someday be able to make a
living as a full-time author. I can’t think of many more rewarding pursuits
than doing something you love every day of your life.
To anyone who has ever dared to
chase a dream, I leave you with this quote that I have in my living room.
“Only
by daring the ridiculous can you achieve the impossible.”
