This is me.
This is also me.
Seventeen years ago, I was writing my first story. I was eleven (you do the math). It was bad; it was no more than a fanfiction handwritten on an old notebook left unused for school, and it contained 1) a lot of dialogue and 2) inappropriate content that should have never come from the mind of a teen who just got her first period.
You can imagine I trashed that stuff before any of my parents found it.
Nevertheless, it was then that I realized writing was fun. I wanted to keep doing it, but for seventeen years, it was a hobby shared with friends from a well-known fanfiction website. Did writing as a career ever crossed my mind? Yes, several times, but indie publishing wasn’t big until recently. Being born and raised in Europe, there weren’t many international publishing options for me and quite frankly, I knew my writing was subpar. At best, around the age of 17, it went from subpar to entertaining. There are some bestselling authors out there (whose names I will not write down) who started a career when they should have been skipping school with friends to buy hot cocoa. Personally, I think practicing should come first and that’s something you need to for many, many years.
I was first and foremost a top student, no shame in bragging. I went to good schools, got good grades, graduated fast and I also used to look so much better, according to old pictures and insane contouring.
But I digress. The whole point is — no matter what you enjoy doing, there will always be something and/or someone pushing you towards something else. I was encouraged to pursue a career. And many thought I’d end up as an English teacher but the pressure to “be something more” was always there. Because, “if you can do it, why not do it?” And that’s how I ended up in law school before working for a small para-legal office.
And getting depressed.
I was 26 when I decided that I wanted to write. I wanted to go for it. I had no idea how to do it but it was decided. It was the only thing I really enjoyed and could picture myself pursuing for the rest of my life.
It took me two more years to execute the idea because, hey, there are bills to pay.
Thankfully, Covid put an end to my procrastination because there are no more jobs available, not where I live.
Publishing this first book wasn’t easy; it was a roller-coaster of emotions (and it still is) and there are definitely too many things I’d do differently if I could go back. But I don’t regret it. Sometimes you need to push it out faster than a woman in labor to get rid of the feeling of,
“This will never be good enough.”
Next time we’ll go over the process of self-publishing so make sure you follow me around to get notified. (Ok, I wanted to end this here because I thought the final sentence sounded cool, don’t @me).