You’re the first to hear…

I’ve been spazzing for the past couple of days about what I would blog on.  Finally, in desperation, I asked one of my co-workers what she’d like to read about a writer if she visited their blog.  She answered that she would like to know what gave a writer the passion to write.  As I kicked around the idea, I realized to me writing isn’t a passion.  It’s as normal to me as breathing.

Hmmm.  Not much help when it comes to writing this blog.  But then I decided I would tell you a story about my writing that I’ve never told anyone.  Not my parents.  Not my husband…before I kicked his skinny ass out.  Not even my soul sister who knows more of my dark secrets than anyone else!  But I can trust you guys with anything about writing, can’t I?

My writing started like any other author.  I was a reader.  And as a youngster, I was the oldest kid on the block so I’m the one who made up the stories we acted out in play.  But it wasn’t until middle-school that I wrote my actual first piece.

Just to set this up, my Sunday school class attended an Easter sunrise Passion Play.  It was so inspiring that when I got home, I was too excited to sleep the few hours I neeeded before regular church.  So I sat down and wrote out my first short story in longhand.  It concerned a scientist who wants to prove that Jesus was a legend, so he builds a time-travel machine to go back and get the proof he needs.  Of course, once he’s in the Holy land and sees, hears Jesus, he becomes a believer.  He takes pictures with the camera he hoped to use to de-bunk the story, but when he returns to his own time, there is only a bright white spot in each picture of the Lord.  So the man of science learns he has to have faith despite what his laws of science says.

To be honest, after I finished the story, I didn’t know what to do with it.  Part of me was thrilled that I’d actually written a story.  But another part of me was embarrassed, unsure if I should show it to anyone.  I did show it to my eighth grade English teacher and she liked it enough to want to publish it in an inter-school anthology.  Believe it or not, I refused.  And it wasn’t until I was an adult that I started writing for serious.

Okay, okay!  Yeah, the story was kind of hokey, but even then I did have some idea of GMC.  I understood to some extent how to do scene and sequel.  My story had a beginning, middle, and ended with a climax.  And my protagonist did show personal growth.  Sometimes, I have to wonder…what would have happened if I’d had the confidence to have that first story published?  Would I now be Nora Roberts?

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5 thoughts on “You’re the first to hear…

  1. What a great story. Isn’t it strange how we sometimes produce something we thought ourselves incapable of and then have NO idea how to feel about it? Writing is such a personal art. The first time we produce something wonderful we have a tendency to want to keep it to ourselves. For in that moment in our eyes it is perfect. We don’t want other people to look at it or attack it or try to tear it down. We feel that if we keep it to ourselves it will always be perfect and unchanged.

    That is why sending out work out into the wide world is SO scary!

    • “For in that moment in our eyes it is perfect.”

      Amen!

      Sometimes I’ll write something that means a whole lot to me, and I just want to hug it and not let anyone else see it, at least for a while.

  2. Jackie:

    Linda and I were just talking about the timing of getting published earlier this week. It’s easy to look back and wonder about the would’ves, should’ves, could’ves in our lives. But I think God brings where he wants to be. So maybe you’re writing and published now instead of “back then” because this is your time. I firmly believe that writing then getting published isn’t the end of the journey…it’s just moving a little further on up the road.

    LS

  3. Great story, Jackie. I was always making up stories, both orally and on paper. In high school, I took a one-quarter class where we wrote our autobiographies. (Like a bunch of 16- and 17-year-olds have soo much to say!) My teacher was a stone-faced, tough, harsh person who rarely said anything complimentary to anyone, but each week she chose several chapters to read aloud to the class. She never spoke to me personally about my work, but mine was the only one she read out loud from beginning to end. And she cried in front of the whole class when my like-an-older-brother died halfway through the bio.

    That was one of, if not the first time I realized I might have a bit of talent for that storytelling biz.

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