A little over one year ago, I sent off a proposal. I’d never done such a thing. It was kind of exciting. Also a little scary. Okay, maybe a little more than a little scary. It was pretty terrifying. Why? Because it wasn’t just a proposal for one book. It was the proposal for five books. I figured if I had an editor’s attention, I might as well take advantage of it. Right?
I didn’t really know what to expect. But what I expected most—my biggest hope—was to get an email back saying the stories looked interesting. What I got back was an email saying she wanted them. All of them. Not only did she want them, she was giving me contracts for all five books. I just needed to come up with a series name. Universal Defiance was born.
I think I’m comfortable saying I didn’t sink. I got it done. And I’m inordinately proud of the story I told. I don’t think I compromised my vision in any way, shape or form. But by no means can this journey be equated to the graceful strokes of swimming. I am a swimmer. It’s my sport. And I know what I’ve done over the past year bears no resemblance to it.
The bottom line is, writing is hard. And there are moments, when I look back, that I’m not overly proud of. Private moments—mind you. Moments of doubt, despair, and frustration. Moments where I swore I’d never write another word for as along as I drew breath. But, thankfully, those moments passed. And when they did, I clung to my work and my worlds with nothing more than raw determination.
No. I did not swim. But I think it might be fair to say I treaded water admirably. And sometimes that takes more skill than swimming.