Two years ago, almost exactly (oh my goodness where has that time gone?!) I emailed my agent, after being rejected by publishers with my non-fiction proposal, and suggested I turn the idea into a novel.
Since that email I’ve written a really dark and wrong first chapter, been on a writing weekend with Julie Cohen and Rowen Coleman where I had a lightbulb moment (thanks, Julie!), gone onto a writing retreat with Kat Black, Katy Collins, Rachael Lucas, Holly Martin, Emily Kerr, and Cesca Major where I wrote thousands of words (I believe I wrote the most of anyone there, not that it was a competition or anything…)
Then I’ve written lots more. Then had self doubts. Then got over myself. Had more self doubts. Got over myself. Had more…You get the idea.
I sat down today, this morning, with the intention of writing The End. Even if the end chapters were not fully flushed out. I had a fear of reaching the end as a) I didn’t know how it was going to end and b) that means I’m that much closer to sending it out to publishers. Which, you know, *scared*.
But I sat down. I gave myself permission to not get it perfect. And you know what? It worked. Two chapters before The End I had an idea. An idea that would affect the structure of the entire book. An idea that makes me happy. It feels like a piece of the puzzle had fitted into place.
Before I could start thinking about it too much, however, I made a note, and continued in my quest to reach The End.
And I made it. Two years, it took me. And yes, if I didn’t have The Fear it’d probably have taken me half that time.
But, I got there in The End.