What is the writer's life? When I was a teenager I had this idea that when I got published I would become that photograph I once saw of the romance author, Barbara Cartland. I'd have a pink satin chaise lounge, a feather boa around my neck, and two fluffy dogs. I'd dream up wonderful stories that the world would love, and I'd spend my days eating chocolate. Since this is a dream, the chocolate had no calories and my metabolism remained that of a sixteen year old kid.
Reality. Dirty dishes, laundry piling up, a book that needs to be finished but the characters are as uncooperative as naughty six-year-olds. In reality, the chocolate went straight to my hips and I'm allergic to the feathers in the boa. Oh, and the dogs aren't fluffy, they're just yappy and sometimes forget to let me know that they need to go outside.
Writing takes determination, thick skin, and the ability to not take 'no' for an answer. So that stubborn trait that my parents wanted me to outgrow has actually paid off. I wouldn't trade the 'real' writing world for anything. I love the characters, even the ones who aren't bending to my will. I love rewriting and watching something beautiful emerge from a so-so manuscript.
I might never be Barbara Cartland, and that's okay. I don't look good in feathers, and I'd slide off a satin chaise lounge. I'll take life in the Ozarks, a window overlooking the woods, and the opportunity to write the books I love.
My advice to those of you who want to write a book. Stop saying, "someday," and make today "the day."