Author: jdedwin

At age 15 I envisioned myself as the next Stephen King. I wrote self-indulgent stories that were short on plot and long on gore. I would be the next horror master by 20, I told myself. I couldn’t call myself a writer unless that happened.

At age 25 I self-published my first novel. I thought by simply putting it on Amazon, it would blow up and I would become an overnight sensation. I would be a best-selling novelist by 30, I told myself. I couldn’t call myself a writer unless that happened.

I’m 35 now.

I’ve published nearly three dozen short stories. I write articles on writing. I’ve written another novel (a better one) and am seeking representation for it. I work a day job that pays the bills. I’m not the next Stephen King or a best-selling author.

And yet, I finally call myself a writer.

You see, being a real, proper writer turned out differently than I imagined. I used to think that to be a writer, you had to be published, and recognized, and have millions of fans and be a household name. Your book had to be on the New York Times Best-Sellers list.

All of those dreams and expectations created a nearly impossible bar to pass. Not only that, it often paralyzed me with fear that writing was not worth it because I may never reach that dream. As the years passed, I’ve learned that the big names in writing were far and few. It didn’t mean that it couldn’t one day be me, but those things did not make me a writer.

Writer write. It was as simple as that.

And so the goal I achieved of being a writer had turned out differently than what I imagined. Being a writer turned out to be a little less glamorous and a lot more hard work. Rather than signing books for a line of eager fans, I write a story or article, share it, take a breather, then write another. I’m not famous, but I’m writing everyday.

Sometimes what you dream of and what you achieve don’t entirely match up. The dreams you had don’t take away what you’ve accomplished, and sometimes it’s easy to forget that. It’s okay to redefine your dreams and change your goals, so long as you’re going forward.

Ultimately, I’d come to realize that what I needed was not the fame or fortune, but the confidence to call myself that title – writer, author. Until I actually get my name next to the great authors of our generation, I’ll happily keep on writing.

I had a revelation recently, perhaps as a result of all this isolation we’re all experiencing right now – rejection is a lonely thing.

Rejection makes you feel like you’re not good enough, like you’re the only one not qualified to join in on some amazing journey that everyone else is setting off on. You stand there and see everyone else who had been accepted, approved, everyone else moving on, and you’re still at the starting point. It’s a feeling that has its own gravity, pulling you down until you think you’re knee-deep in mud, unable to move forward.

In shopping my novel, Headspace, out to agents, I’ve been receiving my fair share of rejections in the last few weeks. My record was one day – an agent actually responded next day to say no, nearly unheard of in the industry. How’s that for a speedy response?

That first rejection hurt. I expected it to. There was no surprise there.

What surprised me was that the second one didn’t. And neither did the third, fourth, fifth, and however many I’m still due to receive.

Because you see, rejections is progress. This is something I have learned and something you will learn in your journey, too. I used to think the hardest thing about becoming an author was writing the book, and that progress is only measured by words written. But rejection teaches you something different – resilience, having faith, moving on and over your obstacles. With every rejection receive, you are a little tougher and a little more brave. You learn what it takes to chase your dream and that you are, in fact, courageous enough to do it.

And you are not alone. Far from it. Ask any published writer and they’ll tell you about the dozens, if not hundreds of rejections they’ve received. Don’t compare your step two to someone else’s step two hundred. And more importantly – don’t let rejection be your enemy, let it be a stepping stone. We are all paving our paths, one rejection at a time.

After an extended hiatus, caused both by the pandemic and the bid to get my novel, Headspace, finished and publishable, I have found my way back to writing short stories. My current story, Flavor, is a mystery set in a world where humans had evolved into texture eaters due to a genetic mutation, and the concept of “flavor” had become a thing of the past.

To write, it is said, one must read. Reading, unfortunately, has also been in short supply during this crazy time. In an attempt to kick start inspiration, I stumbled upon Kevin Liu’s The Paper Menagerie, an incredible collection of short stories. From the beautiful, literary narrative of how different alien societies create books, to a truly unique interpretation of the modern hulijing (fox spirits from Chinese folk lore), this collection is an experience from start to finish. If you’re looking for a little escape into the beautiful surreal, I highly recommend taking a gander at the pages of The Paper Menagerie.

This quote appeared on my screen recently. It’s quite honestly one of the best advice on writing I’ve ever seen. Too often we find ourselves overthinking the writing process, when in fact sometimes it truly is as simple as open laptop, smash keys.

I was very resistant to reading books on writing in my early writing days. Though I took a creative writing course in college, incorporating what was taught into my work was difficult. Part of me firmly believed that everyone had their own way of writing and there was no “teaching” it. It didn’t help that the class was online and students were mostly left to read the assigned book and email in writing assignments for grading. The whole experience left me disillusioned with the concept of learning how to write.

After college, as I worked and settled into adult life, I began to take art classes. Unlike writing, I went into art with no preconceived notions. I had very little knowledge of drawing and painting. Rather than assuming I knew anything, I let the instructors take the lead and absorbed their teachings without question. And I noticed something – though I knew nothing about it, I improved little by little, and the more I learned, the more possibilities opened up. Learning the rules actually helped break them, a fascinating revelation.

It took some time, nearly a decade for me to realize that this principle ought to apply to writing as well. After some research, I was unsurprised to find that many people shared my initial opinion regarding writing – that it can’t be taught. And yet, I wondered – there were so many books on writing, and some people are obviously better at it than others, so why not hear what they have to say?

Three years ago, I began to read. The very first book of the genre that I seriously sat down to read was Stephen King’s On Writing, a fabulous, easy-to-read book on the writing life and the craft itself. From there I moved onto other books, some about life as a writer, some about crafting stories long and short, some focused on specific topics like dialog, description, setting, etc. While I’m the first to admit that not every book has been helpful, reading them has opened my eyes, and I saw that there was much that could not only be learned with writing, but practiced and perfected, like any art or sport. Like an artist beginning with circles and lines, writing has its own building blocks. One cannot be expected to write sentences, after all, without first knowing the alphabet. While creativity cannot be taught, the tools to help it flow and achieve its potential certainly can. 

Today, I believe more than ever that writing is a craft more so than a talent, and while talent certainly plays a factor, learning the craft itself will carry you so much farther. Here are some of my personal favorite books on writing:

On Writing, by Stephen King

Dynamic Characters, by Nancy Kress

Write Great Fiction series, by Gloria Kempton, James Scott Bell, Ron Rozelle, and Nancy Kress

Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott

Create Short Fiction, by Damon Knight

It was the Best of Sentences, It was the Worst of Sentences, by June Casagrande

The difference between “hobby” and “work”, it has been said, is that you do a hobby for pleasure only, but you are paid for work. The reality is a little more complex.

For a very long time, I viewed writing as a hobby. Or at least, I assumed it would and could only be a hobby until someone paid me to do it. It wasn’t until recently that I came to a very different conclusion – no one was going to treat my writing as work – or a job, or a profession – until I did it first.

Work carries with it a strong sense of intention, and a good amount of obligation. Work means this is more than just for fun, it’s more than just easy come, easy go. Work means commitment and willingness to do the unpleasant and boring parts of your goal. Work, above all, means that your dreams are worthy of your effort and dedication.

The professional has learned that success, like happiness, comes as a by-product of work. The professional concentrates on the work and allows rewards to come or not come, whatever they like.
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art

After years of putting my writing second to my day job, my “real job”, I have finally decided to make it what it should be – a second job, real and dedicated work toward my goal. This has meant a mental shift and attitude change, as well as organization, scheduling, and setting a certain amount of hours aside from everything to dedicate to this job. I am doing the parts of the job that I had put off – reading, researching, networking, building a presence. It finally feels real.

Today is day one. Today I clock in as Author.