We’ve lost some really talented people in the last couple of weeks. David Bowie and Alan Rickman are the ones that hit me the most, particularly Alan Rickman, who, for some reason, I just assumed would always be there.
What does this tell me as newer writer, just starting on the publishing journey?
It means don’t give up.
Nothing is guaranteed.
If something pulls at you to do it, do it. You may not have any more time.
I’m not being morose; I’m being realistic.
So, what does that mean for me?
It means taking the draft of the book I’m writing, holding my breath and giving it to a professional editor, who I will pay for, to review and tell me the truth.
Also, hopefully, guide me as I take a 46K manuscript and turn it into a full novel. But that can’t happen if she reads it and throws up.
I have until the end of February to get this as ready as I can and then I go, into the breach.
My ego may get bruised, but what is worse, waiting longer? I’m 47. If I die at age 69 like Rickman, I have a very few short years to see my goals realized. I can’t wait. And neither can you.
Let’s make the deaths of these creative people mean something. Drive yourself. Don’t stop. Believe in your abilities and that learning and growing requires falling and getting back up.
I’m going to keep trying. You should too.
