I was twelve or fourteen the first time I started a novel. The best thing about it was the title, which I have filed away in my memory banks to hold on to for another book on another day. It all stemmed from a dream I had, and was full of what my adolescent brain deemed great romance and adventure.
What happened to it? It was lost into the recesses of other files not backed up on my parents' computer. Probably for the best, honestly.
Since then my writing has been relegated to homework, essays, then rubrics, assignment sheets, exemplars, and in my free time, jotted plans, notes, short stories, occasionally poetry, and short pieces of personal narrative.
They say more than 80% of people have a story lurking within themselves that they want to tell. Very few of those people will ever do it. And if you don't want to write that story, then that is perfectly okay.
But I do.
I had never really thought of self-publishing, but at a teacher's conference there was a session on how to do it, and I figured, what the hell.
So I started. By the end of the coming weekend, while my marking pile stared at me accusingly from the coffee table in front of my laptop, I had a novel outlined and the first chapter written.
Now, not quite a month later, I am over half-done the first draft of my manuscript, and I have a notebook full of other ideas.
That marking pile hasn't quite lessened, either.
So what was the push? When I was on the precipice, debating on whether or not to jump, what pushed me over?
You may have noticed that the metaphor I chose to go with there involved something that would, logically speaking, result in a giant splat. That's because, inevitably, that is the most likely outcome.
What does that mean for me, and for you, perhaps also hanging out on that precipice up there?
The scariest thing is that first step.
Once you step off the cliff it's all work, all arm-flapping and parachute-cord-pulling and wondering why you didn't just get in a plane instead. There are moments of hesitation, I am sure, but it's the first push that actually matters.
You don't get to the freaking-out-about-going-splat part without actually leaving the cliff.
If you stop, you increase your chances of going splat.
I am working on making writing a habit. Of course, things get in the way.
I get that.
I work a job that is not just a job. It means coaching and supervising. It means planning and marking. So. Much. Marking.
It means emails throughout evenings and weekends, and losing sleep worrying about students. It means taking twice as long to get groceries or run errands because I meet parents and students everywhere I go. It means caring about teenagers who have told me to f*** off, who hate me some days. It means trying to get young adults who have panic attacks when separated from their phones to not only understand, but love Shakespeare. It means throwing ounces of myself into my work, well outside of school hours.
I love my job, but it doesn't leave a lot of me left for writing.
Time was always my excuse, as I am sure it is for many. I have no idea how someone with kids does it, but you know what? They do.
People who work three jobs with three kids can manage to work towards their goals. My job is busy, but it isn't as busy as all that.
What was my excuse?
If I only focus on my work, the other parts of me falter. That is no different for my writing, which has always been as much a part of me as the colour of my eyes.
If you stop maniacally flapping your arms once you leave that precipice and are in the air, you are going to have a hard time defeating gravity. So I strongly recommend to myself not stopping.
Most of the time, most people are going to go splat.
Maybe I will stop flapping now that I am in the air. Maybe I forgot to pack the parachute correctly. Maybe I forgot to pack the parachute completely, and it is too late now to scramble together a makeshift one. Maybe I won't figure that out until the ground comes up to meet me.
I hope not.
But even if these efforts are in vain, at least I will gain some experience. So maybe I won't fly right away. Maybe I won't fly at all.
But maybe each effort will also help construct some wings, and eventually I will figure out how to flap them correctly and figure this whole thing out.
What do you think will help me - and others - learn to do this whole flying thing? Comment below, or feel free to contact me. And don't forget to subscribe to my monthly newsletter, now in the works!