Nana Malone

I got the call!  Okay, so it was an email. Same difference right?  (What does that even mean?)  The Wild Rose Press offered me a contract!!!!!!  Sorry for the excessive use of exclamation marks, but you can imagine my excitement, shock, overwhelming urge to do a full scale booty dance every waking minute of the day.

For most of my life I’ve wondered what I was supposed to be doing with my life.  I had always been told to do what I was passionate about.  The only problem was, the only things I was truly passionate about were books. 

Ten years ago I read Bridget Jones’s Diary and had my Oprah ah-ha moment.  I loved Helen Fielding’s seemingly easy blend of humor and touching moments mingled with misadventures that could only happen to Bridget.  I wondered, “What if I could do that?” 

Like so many newbie “have a lot to learn” writers, I said things like, “How difficult could it be?”  An adorable heroine, sexy hero, a cute meet, sprinkle some acerbic wit and bam, you have a book.  God, I had no idea.  Who knew I needed plot, characterization, some magical writing and heaps of luck?

After several failed attempts at gluing a haphazard plot together for my first book, I got myself some craft books.  Make that lots of craft books, joined RWA, signed up for every class I could get my hands on, and found the best critique partner that a newbie like me deserved or could ask for.  She’s been patient, but honest.  Tells me what I don’t want to hear, encourages me to be the best writer I can be and I’m so honored to call her a friend and one of my favorite authors, Misty Evans.  If you’ve never read her, you’re missing out!

Over the years I’ve met some amazing writers.  Women who pour their hearts out onto the paper.  Those who plot, those who pants it.  All of them hustling towards an impossible goal while traversing the land mines of day job, significant others, kids and personal lives.

Because now, 10 years later, two completed manuscripts, over a hundred rejection letters and experiences I wouldn’t trade for a pair of Prada pumps, (Let’s be honest, I might trade the experience for some Louboutins),  I know what work goes into being a writer.  The pain, pleasure, joy of it.  The sweat and the literal tears.  I’ve literally had my dream come true…

Now what? 

PS.  I plan on having a big ol’ bonfire with those rejections.

What dreams are you working toward?