Pinching myself

young girl standing in a wheat field
~ Marla

“Well sure,” I thought, “who doesn’t want to write books? But novelists aren’t people like us.” I was 10, and my friend Cindy had just confessed what she wanted to be when she grew up. Over the next 50 years, I did publish some other stuff myself, and met one or two actual novelists, but I still figured I wasn’t a person like them.

Then, at 55, I left my career behind when my husband’s work brought us to Oregon, and I decided to try to be a writer, of essays maybe, or a memoir, or heck, I might as well tackle a novel. And now I have finished it.

Can I just say that again? I have finished a novel. (Pinch!) And, as they say in Minnesota where I used to live, it’s not too bad. But I haven’t a clue how to get it published.

This blog will tell that story (likely a long, comic, successful, tragic story ) of how and if it gets published. I imagine I’ll learn as much going forward as I’ve already  learned making a new life writing. I’ll share those thoughts here, and I hope you’ll comment about what you know, wish for, and struggle with in your own writing life.

Can we become novelists? Time will tell. But as for growing up, I seriously doubt it will come to that.

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Published by Marla

19 thoughts on “Pinching myself”

  1. Fun! I’m glad you are letting me come on this trip. And, face it, we grew up when we raised new people we brought into the world….. now is perhaps a second childhood where we can just have popcorn for dinner and do mostly what we want!

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  4. I can’t even imagine what it takes to write a novel. The closest thing for me would be writing a series of essays. Maybe that’s how some novels get started. I applaud your courage for taking on the lion.

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