In April 2003 I began scribbling a story and submitting bits of it to a new workshop/critique group I had just joined. They were romance writers and I had never read a romance book, but the story I wanted to write was a love story, so I thought I might get good feedback.
I got great feedback.
I got validation that I could write and also advice on how to write better.
I got direction in where to seek instruction to strengthen my craft.
I got friends who were also on a writers' journey.
I got the bug to critique others' work.
I got a new career as an editor of fiction manuscripts.
I got two short stories published.
I got my big book finished.
And now I have my first novel published.
Release day almost seems like anticlimax, considering all the blessings I've gained in the past eight years on the road to today. Also since the book is print-length it was available for preorder, and at least one person got her copy and began reading it three days ago--I don't even have my author copy yet!
Perhaps the accomplishment will truly sink in when I can hold a copy in my own hands and re-read it without the ability to fiddle with the wording.
I won't get roses, I won't get dinner out--I doubt my husband even knows what today is. My daughter has no idea.
But I know. Today is the birthing day for my second child, eight years in gestation.
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