Are you Still Writing?

“Are you still writing?” This is the question writers, whether seasoned or just starting out, are regularly asked. With this question comes many mixed emotions or responses that range from “Thank you for asking! Thank you for seeing me and acknowledging my genuinely trying. I am still writing and I am still a writer even if you have no proof of what I’m diligently working on in the wee hours of the night or morning!” to the simple “I am…” (followed by the imposter syndrome that constantly creeps in with the standard who do you think you are attitude).

Just the other day, I thought to myself I should be writing… I need to write something followed by the intrusive thought if you don’t use it, you lose it. It is an innate need or itch that pops in for anyone who has the writing bug. However, while in my personal season of what I call writing waiting, I have not felt the motivation to write, nor have I felt that I have anything to write about. That is until I had the pleasure of listening to one of my favorite podcasts, The David Magee Show, featuring one of my favorite local writers, Claire Gibson. Listening to these two discuss their own writing journeys was such a gift. I felt seen, heard, and that we all go on very convoluted journeys with the goal of getting to whatever that final destination is in our hearts. So, I finally felt the need to put pen to paper (or keyboard to doc) and give insight to what my own writing journey has been like in the hopes of refreshing my weary writing heart and maybe inspiring just one person to go out there and do it… and to keep going…and to do it again.

It took me quite a while to remember I am a writer. I was born into this world with a full artist’s heart and soul, and to be quite honest, I’m not sure my parents knew what to do with me. Growing up, I lived for the days we had art class in school, sketched designer dresses during every televised beauty pageant, and wrote stories for my elementary classmate’s birthdays upon request. I was drawn to colorful characters in life who were deemed “different” or “weird”, because I recognized their fellow creative soul and only wanted to know more on how their brains worked. I found the “weirdo’” minds fascinating.

As I grew up, I dreamt of going to art school after my high school art teacher encouraged me while I simultaneously won awards in English literature and AP English. However (and for many reasons), reality set in, and I was steered toward a more predictable path of healthcare as I began my college journey at my beloved state school- something I wouldn’t change for the world now. At the time, my colorful dreams faded to black and white as I caved to the outside pressures of this world and begrudgingly fit myself into an extremely suffocating box I never wanted to be in and certainly never felt comfortable in.

I adapted as one does and went about my way. I thoroughly enjoyed college life to the fullest and eventually graduated from nursing school. Life was stable, bills were paid, and I always had an insurance plan- things that are not taken for granted, especially this day and age. A little after ten years in the boring box, the suffocation became stronger, and I started to get the innate urge to create. My artist soul began to slowly come back around. I started painting and writing, hoping that eventually something would click.

God tends to send you unexpected people at particular points in your life, and one day He sent me a general contractor who became one of the very first people I told I was writing. For whatever reason, I have found that initially, reborn creatives find it hard to just put it out there- perhaps out of fear of rejection or having our seemingly outlandish dreams crushed. I thought, this is safe. My contractor won’t know much about this writing world, and now it’s out there. Well, little did I know, my contractor was a very well-read man who knew much more about writing than I could have imagined. He was extremely encouraging and suggested I talk to his fiancé who just happened to have been in the publishing industry for years. It was the last thing I thought the man renovating my kitchen would say, but God has a sense of humor.

So off I went to meet his fiancé. I had no idea the powerhouse that was sitting across from me on that fateful day, and was clueless to what a huge influence, encourager, and champion she (and her future husband) would become on my journey as a writer… even my journey as a human. The first gift she gave me was telling me to read Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. This book absolutely changed my life. It brought back all that the hum drum real world monotony had suppressed. After reading it, I started dreaming more vividly and remembering things I had forgotten about myself- both big and small. It forced me to remember I am a storyteller at my core and made me get to writing. I constantly tell people to read The Artist’s Way and even pressured my own brother to do so by buying it for him every Christmas until he finally gave in.

As my writing journey continued, people warned me that it would be a very long and winding road. My naïve and optimistic self continued on with my renewed artist spirit and dismissed the warnings. I called anyone I knew who may be close to the writing industry and asked for meetings. I emphasize my naïveté when I called an acquaintance to meet me and read what I had written so far. What I didn’t realize was that lovely the woman who agreed to meet with me was one of the top literary agents in the country and probably thought poor thing when reading my first draft. Looking back, I think how wonderful she was to spend even thirty minutes with me though I didn’t have a clue. I’ll forever be a fan of hers for that gesture of grace- what a solid human.

With the support of the contractor and his new wife, I queried both agents and small publishing houses like it was my second job after putting my young children to bed each night. (For those unaware of what querying is, it is pitching your manuscript for representation) I decided I would take whichever came first for my debut novel- an agent or a publishing deal. I kept it rather quiet, and didn’t tell many people what I was doing, for fear of jinxing it or perhaps fear of outside judgement. After a few months, it happened. I had not one, but two, small publishing houses that wanted to publish my book. I was ecstatic! I had done it… and it didn’t seem so daunting like everyone warned me. After deciding on a stateside offer rather than an overseas offer, I had a publishing deal, and my first book was set to release in Fall of 2022. Now, with a publishing deal and a book set to release, I felt that I finally had returned to who I was meant to be – a true southern storyteller.

I let the cat out of the bag. I developed my writing website at the request of my publisher, wrote my forward and acknowledgements, picked out art for the cover, pushed out writing on social media, and started telling friends and family. Feedback was mixed- some were elated, and some responses were unexpected: Like one when I told someone close to me, “I wrote a book and it’s getting published” only to hear the response, “Well, I wrote two.”

Then, the unthinkable happened, though in the writing and publishing world it is very thinkable. And the ups and downs of my writing journey officially began: my publishing house was closing (and crumbling). I immediately thought about the other publishing house overseas who wanted to publish my book. I made the wrong choice, I thought. I was embarrassed, crushed, and devastated- I tearfully took my rights back even though I knew in my gut it was a blessing in disguise. All that I had worked for and been excited for was gone right before my eyes, and I had to start over from what felt like zero.

In the meantime, I was writing a second and third book… putting pen to paper, while starting from scratch on the finding the first a new home. I was back to the world of constant no’s, but we writers keep going until we get that elusive one yes. It’s the stories of books like Chicken Soup for the Soul getting rejected 144 times before hearing the accepting yes that keep us going back for more. I’ve heard more no’s than I care to admit. I’ve entered countless contests only to hear crickets, hoping that maybe they are really rigged. I’ve had chat after chat with God, asking “why did you put this in my heart? Are you sure this is really what you want me to do?” And still… the desire is still there. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment.

So here I sit, after starting my journey years later, still going. There have been many ups and many more downs, crazy left turns, multiple ghosting emails, and lots of this does not fit my current list responses. Only now, that contractor’s wife (who eventually became the head of her own literary agency) is championing my latest novel, while my first and second sit in the files, hoping to find a home when I get a break from work, kids, and the craziness of life. As I wait on next steps – whether a third round of editing, a complete rework, or landing the publisher- I realize it is the people and their own words that help carry the spirit of the artist. It’s the podcasts that make us feel seen. It’s the contractor who listens. It’s the fiancés who have a soft spot for the young mother who dreams of a different way of life. It’s the top agents who sit with you and acknowledge your dream, even if it’s nowhere near ready that keep us going.

Claire Gibson says it best on David Magee’s podcast when she states, “Any work of art is a miracle”. And gosh, for us artists it is so true. What it takes to get that work of art out- the isolation of creating, the anguish of constant rejection, the questions of worthiness. It’s nothing short of a miracle to have a final creation when it is all said and done. And it’s the people around us that usher our spirits to keep going.

So, in close, as I reflect on my own journey as an artist and a writer, please don’t quit asking those who are creating, “Are you still writing?” because sometimes it’s the one thing that will get us to the miracle.

The Week We Met Fern