Start here.
I can’t put my finger on exactly when I decided I wanted to be a writer. I imagine it must have been in those hazy years between 5 and 8, when I was devouring everything from The Lord of the Rings to The Hardy Brothers and Famous Five. But at some point it stopped becoming some mutable, fuzzy urge and became a statement inside my head. I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to write.
I started with poetry. I was in primary school, and we were assigned some writing task or other, and I ended up waxing eloquent about clouds for five verses. I’m sure I’d cringe if I could find it now, but at the time it was apparently enough to make my teacher raise his eyebrows and send me off for private lessons during recess to the school’s self-proclaimed poetry enthusiast. Her name was Mrs. Wintergarden, and I remember being initially upset that my 20 minutes of running around and playing with sand had been sacrificed for spending time with a somber middle-aged woman in her somber, cramped office. She leaned close to me when she spoke, and her breath smelled like coffee grounds that had been strangled, drowned, and left somewhere to die.
In short, I really didn’t like her until she introduced me to The Highwayman.
The Highwayman, illustrated by Charles Keeping
She read it aloud, and then passed me the book and made me read it aloud. I remember the illustrations as much as the words, the dark shadows in the Highwayman’s face and the glint in Bess’ eye as she plaited her hair. I remember the weight of the words in my mouth, and the way they rolled out and created gothic images of moonlight over the moor. I remember that that was when I began connecting the concept of being a writer with the idea of creating beautiful things with words.
After that experience, I wrote a few poems. I also bought exercise books and filled the margins with titles that I wanted to write, all of which were hideous rip-offs off Enid Blyton’s adventure series. Then I tried to tackle a sci-fi epic where children got sucked away across the universe after playing a game and enslaved by an evil, telepathic alien race. Of course, they mounted a heroic rebellion that saved Earth. I believed I called it ‘Dark Secret’. I was 9 years old.
I grew older. I tried a fantasy epic next, which I never finished. I rediscovered ‘Dark Secret’ on a floppy disc in my teenage years and deleted it so the world could never see my shame. I contracted depression from my friends and family and went through a year where I wrote nothing but angst-ridden, soul-destroying poetry. I eventually clawed my way out and started on short stories.
I got older still. I submitted short stories to competitions, got honourable mentions, and then nothing. I got annoyed, submitted again, and won a few local competitions. Finally, in the final year of secondary school, I outdid myself. I won a small, international competition between Australia, New Zealand and Hong Kong with an essay. I won an Australian award for student writers. I won first prize in a local competition for short stories. I was was given the school’s Writer’s award.
Then I stopped writing.
I had several reasons. Finishing school meant I had to concentrate on what everyone expected of me, which was to go to university and do a law degree (because you’re so good at English!). And I found I did enjoy law. Really. But the travails of law school and working a stressful part-time job to support myself meant less time for writing. And then I got into fanfiction after becoming engrossed in a number of fandoms. And then even that dried up, and I found myself writing nothing.
Yes, every so often I read a book and got inspired and wrote 2,000 words a day for two weeks, but then I stopped. And the writing sat there on my hard-drive, quietly gathering cyber-dust.
Years passed.
I still knew that I wanted to write. I still knew that I wanted to be a writer. But there was a block. I’ll start my great novel, I told myself. I‘ll start it tomorrow. Or next month, after exams. Yeah, after exams.
NaNoWriMo 2013 Flyer
I discovered NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month in November. I threw myself into it with enthusiasm, twice. The first time, I think I gave up after about 15,000 words. The second, 25,000. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t what I wanted. It wasn’t perfect.
I know now that that was one of my biggest stumbling blocks, amongst many others (such as not realising how to plot or structure, but I’ll get into that another time). I was so wrapped up in the persona of the successful writer who’d won a swathe of awards that I didn’t realise I’d simply gotten lucky that year. I grew disconsolate when I submitted to competitions and didn’t even place. Well, I thought. Perhaps I’m not that good after all. Perhaps I should just stop. Perhaps I should concentrate on this next semester. Yeah, next semester should be a little easier. I’ll finish my book before I graduate.
I started working more. I was lucky enough to get promoted and have a salesperson under me. She taught me so much it deserves a post of its own. Suffice to say, I saw how professionals walked into shop after shop and rejection after rejection and just kept going. The smile got a little strained sometimes, but it was still there.
I graduated without writing a book.
That’s when I started panicking. I’d been doing internships throughout my last year of study, hoping to get a job. I was lucky enough to land one. I had it all set, lined up, but I wasn’t a writer.
It hit me. With years of working up the corporate ladder ahead of me, I knew that any time I made for writing would have to be carved out of sleep and precious moments with family and friends. And I realised that I had two paths:
- Continue on as I was, dreaming of being a writer, always telling people I wanted to write, without actually engaging in any of the things professional writers do; or
- Get a grip and approach writing like I approached everything else I took seriously, like university or getting a job.
So here it is. You’ve read through 1,000 words waiting patiently for me to get to the point about how to get serious about writing. And after all the soul-searching and life experiences and all of your own reasons for wanting to put your thoughts on paper, it comes to this. Every day, you stand at a crossroads: are you a writer, or not?
Every. Damn. Day.
Getting serious about writing is knowing that you will say ‘Yes’ to being a writer every day for the rest of your life. It’s about crossing the road from forever ‘wanting’ to be a writer and staying the kid who dreams of writing bestsellers to becoming the professional who writes through gritted teeth even when their muse is holidaying in the outer rings of Saturn. That professional may or may not become a bestselling writer. They may even struggle for years to get published. But they’ve got more of a chance of becoming a bestselling writer than the dreamer because they’re writing.
I’ve still got a long way to go to reach where I want to be. But I like to think that I’m closer now than the kid clutching awards who dreamed of wanting to be a writer. And just by asking the question, by looking for an answer, you’re closer too.
TREASURE TROVE OF RELEVANT LINKS
7 Habits of Serious Writers (Aliventures)
Getting Serious about Writing (jmledwellwrites)
JM writes historical novels born of a love of Native American dolls, Little House on the Prairie Books, trips with her father to Revolutionary War battlefields, and a degree in Russian history and a fascination with Japan. Her writing is fuelled by travelling and her mascot and writing buddy Rory, a winsome Maltese puppy, who keeps her on her toes.
Get Serious About Writing – The Blog Series (Lisa Rivero)
Lisa Rivero is a freelance book indexer and the author of several books for readers of all ages, including the award-winning The Smart Teen’s Guide to Living with Intensity and the children’s historical novel Oscar’s Gift. She also works as an Adjunct Associate Professor at Milwaukee School of Engineering, where she has taught technical writing, humanities, speech, creativity thinking, and psychology.
