Two years ago today, I sat in the cubicle of my office, practically bursting through my skin. I don’t know what I was thinking trying to be at work that day. (I’d just started the job though, so I hadn’t amassed vacation time yet). On that day, April 21st, my book was headed to auction.
A lot of writers talk about The Call. In my case, I knew I’d sell my book that day, but I didn’t know to where, or when it would happen. My boyfriend and I had planned a celebratory meal that evening, and I almost missed the reservations because the auction went on longer than expected. I had my first conversation with my editor; I agreed to their offer; and just like that, I went from aspiring novelist to debut novelist.
One year ago today, I became a full-time writer. It was a hard decision to leave my job and venture into the the freelance world, but it was the right time to make the leap. I was gearing up for the release of my first novel, had looming deadlines on my second, and knew that if I wanted to write more, I would need to take the risk and go for it. So I did.
Today, I sit in my apartment, whose home office never did manage to materialize, signing my second book contract. A box of author copies of the paperback of my debut lies in front of the bookshelf, waiting to be unpacked, and I just received my first trade review of the sequel. My books are being published in five countries, in three languages, and when people ask me what I do, I tell them I’m a novelist.
I feel so fortunate to have a job I adore, and to work with such dedicated and talented associates like my agent, Deidre, and my editor, Kerri. There are times when I have to step back and say, how did all of this happen? And, on the anniversary of the start of my career, I feel the need to reflect on what brought me to this place, and how grateful I am for the job.
20 Responses to Mysterious Ways…