For as long as I can remember, I have dreamed of being a writer. As a child, I created stories and wanted to compete in writing competitions every year. But the issue I had was that I could never seem to finish what I started. The closest I got before the summer of 2019 was 40 pages of a manuscript that I somehow seemed to write within a day or two. I remember those days vividly.

I was still living at home with my parents, and I woke up one morning and had a vision in my head of characters and this story. It was a half conscious dream. So, I got out of bed, walked out to the living room where my Dad was watching tv and told him I was going to write a novel.

I never finished it. I still have the 40 pages (that I had my mother print at her job for me) tucked under my bed. I haven’t reread it since and I have barely given it thought.

Right before I moved to Texas, I had the same feeling inside me – I held a story that needed to be shared with the world. So I sat down and began handwriting this story in a notebook I bought just for it. Within the first two months I had hardly written more than 15 or 20 pages. I felt stuck and as if my idea was stupid or that my dream would never be more than a dream.

After the move and after getting settled in, I realized now was the time. I was still in between finding work (which ended up being subbing and leaving me with plenty of time off) and knew that I could finish it. That I had to finish it because otherwise I would be letting myself down… again.

And I did. I celebrated the first 100 handwritten pages with a beer. And if I remember correctly, my boyfriend and I celebrated the finish of that first draft with a couple beers at our favorite bar.

The feeling of accomplishment after finishing that novel was electric. I have not finished my second, but the ideas haven’t stopped flowing into my head. I have lots of projects started and know that someday I will be able to write them all.

I can never thank enough the people who supported my dream of finishing my novel. It was something I talked about for years and years. Almost to the point that I was convinced they didn’t believe in it either – again that dream would stay a dream.