I Wrote a Book

I’ve always had a crowd of ideas and stories clogging up my mind. I can turn just about anything into something—a thought into a drawing, an idea into something tangible, and even a book into fruition.

My answer to the occasional “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Or “What’s something you’d like to accomplish someday?” Would be “I want to be an author.” The follow-up question, “What kind of book do you want to write?” Was one I struggled to answer.

As I said, I always have an idea. A mental movie about something is always playing in my mind. But these ideas are messy and sporadic. I have an extremely hard time focusing, so structuring an idea is difficult for me. It’s like holding a vase of flowers with nowhere to set it down, awkward and kinda annoying.

But I’ve discovered one creative process that somehow solidifies an idea in my mind and provides the marble pillar for the vase.

Dreams.

I remember dreams so vividly; I can play them in my mind over and over again, and they never lose their structure, their bones. I do my best work subconsciously, it would seem, because it was a dream that brought my novel to life.

I remember the day I opened the blank document and began to write after I had the dream. I wrote out eleven pages in one sitting. I was going to have this book done in no time, I thought. Then I read the pages I'd written the night before the next morning and walked away from the project immediately. I didn’t have what it takes to be an author. I’ll stick to the short-format writing I enjoy.

But I kept getting pulled back in; I kept trying and failing, but I somehow managed to dig my claws into this dream deep enough not to let it get away. I’ve never pushed for something so hard in my entire life. And here I am, over a year later, with a 93,000-word novel that I am so incredibly proud of.

I’ve done endless, questionable research, read many self-help books, cried a lot, and gone almost radio silent on social media. This idea, this book, has taken up every bit of my free time and every ounce of creative juice I’ve secreted for fifteen months.

I know what I’ve created isn’t perfect, and I know not a lot of people aren’t going to read it. I’m a nobody; it’s fine. Usually, insecurities like this would stop me from sharing it. But I am so proud of what I’ve done, and I love what I created. I’m a mother of two now, a small dog and this novel.

A literal dream made my dream of becoming an author real, and I really hope the few who will read this will support me.

More will be revealed soon, but to the few people reading this blog post, I want you to be the first to know the title of my novel.

Everything Left Unfolded.