Dream a Big Dream

I started dreaming about it in second grade. Obsessed with time travel, werewolves, vampires, unicorns, stars, Pound Puppies and Care Bears, and All Things Magical or Unique -- I began to write. I'd been reading for what seemed like forever already, but my second grade teachers in an experimental double-classroom read to us every day and then gave us the assignment of writing a story of our own. And not just that, but creating our own book! We looked through books of wallpaper samples, chose which cover we wanted, cut it out and used yarn and a three-hole punch to create a binding for our stories after we wrote and illustrated them ourselves. I remember the gaudy pink and orange pattern with a cream-colored background that delighted me so, and stringing the yarn through the holes and tying it together. The sense of accomplishment and awe when it was finished -- I DID THAT! -- and the joy of reading it to my friends and family and watching their expressions as words that I came up with took them on a journey.

Sure, it was a journey of a jealous 8-year-old talking about her cute, tiny cousin, rife with sarcasm and terrible illustrations. But -- I DID THAT! Nobody else wrote it, nobody else gave me the idea, nobody else gave me the words. And from that moment on, I was hooked.

My words became more eloquent, my education more complete, my experience more well-rounded as the years went by. I tried my hand at genre after genre - horror, of course, my first love; romance in my teen years; supernatural thrillers; short stories; poetry; memoir; researched non-fiction. My first novel was published in 2005 by a hybrid publisher - they created my cover art, gave me royalties, and nothing came out of my pocket, but I was in charge of my own marketing. I still have my ISBN memorized and it's been nearly 20 years since I got that acceptance letter in the mail. Then came self-publishing, which got easier as the years went on, starting with digital books and moving into print-on-demand, still with no money out of my pocket.

But the gut-wrenching part of writing and publishing is chasing the dream - looking for an agent, soliciting a publisher, sending out queries, sending out manuscripts, waiting for responses, and, inevitably, being crushed by rejection after rejection. Putting the writing away, convincing yourself it's not really your calling, doing the 'real job' to pay the bills. Sneaking glances at old drafts at 2am, pulling out the trusty red pen to fix all the things you should have known back when you wrote that draft, silly you! Hiding it away again in the morning as you get dressed to go to work. And dreaming, dreaming, always dreaming.

I've come to look at it as though it IS my job. It HAS to be my job if I want to succeed at it. Of course I still believe that things happen for a reason, that if something's meant to be it will be... but I also believe that nothing will happen unless we want it badly enough to work towards it. I can't just sit in my bed, never write, and expect to become a bestselling author, right? So I have to do All The Things. I have to write, to edit, to market, to make calls, to send emails, to find connections, to network, to collaborate, to query, to put myself out there even when it might not be smack in the middle of my comfort zone, to create social media posts, to blog, to seek an agent, to research publishers, to read and keep abreast of the latest happenings, to flounder around in groups where people motivate each other to keep up with their dreams and, above all, to pray.

And it's so hard.

Just looking at those words dismays me, because they create such an understatement. It takes time, effort, money, endurance, resilience. It takes a strong soul to be rejected over and over and keep jumping back in for more in the hopes that one little spark will catch on fire and light up the world.

But I'm here. I'm trying. And I'm grateful for you and your support, more than you know.

-Stephanie