One Year On

One year ago today, I woke up with an idea in my head and frantically typed 5,000 words of a story that would become THE TRAVELERS.

That day, I thought a lot of things about my writing self.

I thought that writing was some silly endeavor I had to try to get out of my system.
I didn't know that writing was something absolutely ingrained in me, desperate to be let free.

I thought that those 5,000 words were captivating, stunning, AWESOME.
I didn't know that they weren't (but I'd learn to make them better.)

I thought that I'd just write this one book and be done with it.
I didn't know I'd write this book, then write another one, then dream up the skeleton for a third, before the year was out.

I thought there was no way I'd ever show my book to anyone.
I didn't know that the handful of people I ended up showing my book to would become absolute lifelines for me, writing and otherwise, and very dear friends.

I thought that, when those people gave me constructive criticism, I would curl up in a ball and die.
I didn't know that the critique-and-revision stage would turn out to be my absolute most favorite part of the whole process.

I thought that writing and blogging about it would make me even more disconnected than I already planned to be.
I didn't know that so so many of you would find my little blog, like reading what I have to say, and support me along the rocky road that I've only just started out on. (Hi, followers! I really do love each and every one of you.)

I thought that writing was ridiculous because it didn't match up with all the career goals I'd had (and achieved!) before.
I didn't know that becoming an author was a dream living deep inside me that I never knew I had.


I thought that all writing this book would accomplish was losing me sleep and buoying me through a tough year.
I didn't know writing would become part of how I think, the way I look at the world, and who I am.

And, just because you might be wondering....

I thought my book would suck.
It doesn't.


Oh! And those five thousand words? Only one sentence out of them survived to make it to the manuscript I'm querying now. (Yeah. I had a lot to learn.) But that sentence, still perfectly intact, is one of my favorites in the whole book - and looking on my first notes dated one year ago today, I know it was in me from the very beginning:

Could it be possible to belong to someone she had never met?

So, even though I was hating on Past Me something fierce on Monday, today, on my one-year-writerversary, I want to give Past Me a great big hug. She's absolutely changed my life.

Your turn! Tell me what reflections and revelations you've had on your writerversaries. Can't wait to tear up at all your sweet stories.