Well, this is, I guess, a very long overdue first post. As you all know, life comes at us fast and doesn’t give us a chance to breathe (especially if we don’t let it). Hence, the reason for the delay.
For my first post, I wanted to take you all back to the genesis of this journey. I had hinted at in my “Author’s Notes” section in HEARTLAND STRIKE, but for those who haven’t read it, or chose not to read that part, I’ll give it again.
Why choose to become a writer? For many who have embarked on the journey of writer, author, storyteller, or orator, whichever description one prefers, we all have our own unique reasons. Why would one choose to do it later in life? Or with no true formal educational background in the craft? Those again elect this choice for a variety of reasons.
Mine was simple. I wanted a different life than the one I had. Which was working for other people. Like most, I would presume, we don’t enjoy the ‘rat race.’ Having to be somewhere at a specifically defined time, for a defined amount of time. All of which we have no control over. Oh, also, we make a mistake we can fired. Not a splendid use of our lives. I get that we have to, to a degree, but I wanted something more.
I started doing some research into how to become my own boss. Right, the dream that most of us have. That’s what I wanted. I wanted to work for myself. There were a lot, a lot of articles on how to make yourself successful, how to be your own boss. So many they can all drown each other out.
The one thing I kept seeing, though, which seemed to be the easiest, was ‘writer.’ Which brought me back in time to my high school days, specifically tenth grade English. The year that I, I, of all students, nearly got expelled from school. The kid that never so much as I had one detention, was on the cusp of being expelled. All because the teacher accused me of plagiarism on an assignment.
He couldn’t fathom that I, a tenth grade English student, could have written what I guess must have been a very good short story. He was adamant that I either plagiarized it or had help.
Needless to say, he lost that fight, because he had no proof other than, according to him, “A tenth grader can’t write something this well.” Its falsehood rendered proof impossible. I did, in fact, write it.
So, going back to that incident, and a brief thought I had while in Afghanistan about writing, I decided that in order to live the life that I wanted; I was going to become a writer.
I mean, I had a great imagination, or so I thought. Growing up as an only child led to creating ways to keep myself entertained while at home. Which strengthened that imagination. So, at thirty, having written nothing since high school, I decided I wanted the life of an author.
The appealing parts, more so. I wanted the freedom that comes with it. The ability to write from anywhere in the world, or at anytime you wanted to write. The life of being my own boss, which is what I wanted. (Little did I know at the time all the struggle in the background that it takes to get your books out to the masses. More on that in later posts, though. 😉)
So, I began this journey. A long winding journey that has taken ten years so far. They’ve been a hard ten years. A lot of self-doubt, a lot of second guessing, rewriting, and learning. Much of an author’s life remains hidden. Things that the public doesn’t get to see.
While doing the research all those years ago and seeing ‘writer’ as a job where you can be your own boss. Live that life of freedom, and thinking to myself, “Well, that seems easy enough. Let’s go do that.” Boy, was I wrong. It’s difficult for all the reasons mentioned above and then some.
However, if I could go back in time and tell my thirty-year-old self all the trials and tribulations that were to come. All the emotional ups and downs, all the time and money that would be taken up trying to fulfill this endeavor. Would I tell myself not to do it? Find something else to do or just be happy as a cog.
NO! I wouldn’t.
I would tell myself to stay the course. Although it’s taken ten years, thousands of dollars, and as of this date, thirty copies sold between two books.
During this journey, I discovered one thing that kind of surprised me. I love to create stories. They run in my head all day long. While at work, driving, eating, showering, all day long. I am consumed by them. I brainstorm plots, how to enrich my stories, how to make them unique. While at first thinking, I need to write stories for others to see, read, and buy, giving me the new career that I wanted.
I realized I don’t write for others. Now, I am writing for myself. I tell the stories that I’d like to read. I once heard a quote: “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it,” by Toni Morrison. What a quote, right?
While I’d love for my writing to become successful, making some money on this side endeavor (which would be nice) and why I started this fantasy of being my own boss and successful author. For people to read and enjoy my books, short stories, or Novellas (those are to come.) and buy them. I now write, because I want to read what I write.
At this time, am I successful? No. As I said earlier, I’ve currently sold thirty books. Which, given the time and money spent, could be seen and viewed as an abject failure. On the surface, that hurts. Deep down, I don’t think I care. I want to keep writing.
In fact, I will start, soon, on my third book. In which I’ll spend another eight to ten months writing (I still work a full-time job, by the way.) Anywhere between a few hundred to a couple thousand to have edited, and another few thousand to market. Will I lose a boat of money? Yes. Will I enjoy every single part of it? No, no one does, and if they tell you they do, they’re lying.
Will I ever become successful enough to make this my full-time living? Only time will tell. I hope so. I hope people will find, read, and enjoy my stories.
In the meantime.
Will I be writing for me, because it’s the story that I want to read, and thus have to tell. As Sophia said at the end of HEARTLAND STRIKE.
Abso-fucking-ly.
Copyright @2025, Michael Williams.