Yesterday I told you why I love books. I doubt it’s a big surprise that I became a writer after that.
My first novel was in 5th grade. It was 30 pages long and in the shape of a coffin. Much to my surprise, when I was going through my parent’s things after they passed, I found it. Mom liked to hang onto things. It was just eh but the start of things to come.
My second novel was in 8th grade. We were assigned to write the journal of someone on the Western Movement. Mine was a hundred pages, surprisingly good, and earned me an A. My teacher suggested trying to get it published. I thought he was being nice. Still have it; he wasn’t kidding. Color me amazed.
I became a playwright in college, a screenwriter after that (terrible, terrible movie–so glad we didn’t have Internet back then).
Several dozen plays after that and a marriage later, I began my first real novel. It was supposed to be a 6,000 word dime novel (bet you don’t remember them) but it turned into an epic 150,000 word suspense novel. No traditional publishers bit and I understand why. It was uneven and had voice problems.
I began working as a technical writer but needed more income, so I turned to ghostwriting. Twelve books later, I was inspired by my children to write my own.
Do Angels Still Fall? was the result, a middle-grade novel about a boy and his angel. Because I had established Prevail Press to publish my client’s books (most of whom didn’t need it), I published Angels that way. Soon thereafter, I began Me and the Maniac in Outer Space.
A word about backing up your work. I kept it all on a thumbdrive, which I lost at a play. The fragments I had left on my computer became a different, longer book. It was supposed to be an adventure but became so much more. Redundant backup is the key, but this worked out for me. Thank the Lord for happy accidents.
Throughout much of this process, I was part of a writer’s group… but I’m getting ahead of myself. More tomorrow. 🙂