One thing that stood out to me at the RT Convention last year was the number of authors who talked about how their significant others weren’t supportive. Their husbands (or wives or whatever) treated their writing as a hobby. At best, it seemed completely dismissive to me.
It made me appreciate my husband even more. He’s always encouraged me to follow any path or dream I had even the one time I thought I could become a soap mogul. Don’t ask. It didn’t end well. =)
He always takes my copies of my paperbacks and shrink wraps them to make sure they don’t get damaged. He’s so cute. He plans to have a special bookshelf just for my books.
And I think my heart grew three sizes. lol
It’s the little things that always remind me how much I love and appreciate my husband.
Like how he leaves love letters in random spots in my notebooks…address to Puff from GubGub. (Don’t ask.)
We do romance in our own way, but it’s remarkable and special because of it.
Anything I’ve ever done that ultimately was worthwhile… initially scared me to death. ~Betty Bender
I started writing stories when I was little. I think it grew out of the fact that my father liked to make-up bedtime stories for me and my siblings when we were younger. I have a distinct memory of a story called The Bear that I wrote when I was nine years old. It was three pages long, in my terrible handwriting, and I was so proud of it.
I continued writing, mostly poetry, in my teens. What teen doesn’t write angsty poetry?
And then at nineteen, I wrote a play.
Somewhere between nineteen and twenty, I started to believe the lesser angels in my life that I couldn’t write. It’s one of those little voices that slowly blossom into raging torrents in your mind. And then, I didn’t write. I couldn’t finish a story for anything.
And I gave up because I was afraid.
Two things I have always hated…giving up and fear.
About two years ago, I decided to just write a stupid story for fun, and I finished it. I actually finished it. Then I had this crazy dream that wouldn’t get out of my mind, and I turned it into a NaNoWriMo story, which I then edited into Ivy.
The thing about fear is that it’s a healthy thing to have, but not a healthy thing to give in to. At some point, you have to find a way to push beyond the terrifying voices that love to tell you something cannot be done.
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