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.
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