... And a Happy New Year!
I hope you've all had a great holiday season!
As for me, it's been hectic, but good nonetheless. After a two-week stay in the hospital, I'm free again and just barely managed to get my wife a few gifts for Christmas. Things turned out well, and I'm looking forward to my eleventh anniversary on January 2nd. It seems weird that eleven years have passed, although we've got two and a half kids to show for it (oh, yeah. I forgot to mention it. My wife is pregnant. Yay!).
But there's something that's missing. And that's what I've decided to rant/pout/whine/write/brood about today. But before that, let me take you back to the beginning of my writing "career."
Back in the day when I'd taken my wife and son to Japan to live, I hated my English-teaching job. Hate isn't a strong enough word. The only solace I had was ramen and Coke. Then I had a realization when we were going to have dinner at a friend's house. I didn't just want to be a linguist. I'd wanted to be a writer since I was twelve.
About a month later, I got a job as a translator/editor/writer for an advertising agency in Tokyo. I began reading as much as I could. I began writing as often as I could, which usually happened when I was done with work. It was a pain to cram all that typing into a day, but somehow I managed it. Once we came back to the States, I had a job as a technical writer within a week, and was freelancing on the side within another two. Writing had not only become something I felt confident in, it had become my life in a very real sense.
Then epilepsy hit me. I couldn't do things I used to do. The medications I took (and still take) slowed my ability to think so much that I lost my job. It felt (and still feels) like life was over because my ability to write and earn a living was gone.
But I realized this was a blessing in disguise. Since then, I've been able to focus entirely on my creative writing, which is what I've always wanted to do whether I realized it or not. I've now gotten into the revision stage of my first book, and finished the rough draft of my second. I'm able to write each day, and I don't think I ever would have been able to do it years ago when I was working as hard as I was.
And so that brings me to now. With leaving behind 2017 and ringing in 2018, I'm starting to think forward to what I'm hoping to accomplish this upcoming year. Naturally, I'm hoping to read a lot more books. After all, writing is a natural outgrowth of my passion, which is reading.
But that brings me back to the thing that's missing. I'm still not out there. I'm trying as hard as I can to get my work revised and polished as well as it can be.
And there we have it. My goal for this year is to get published. Maybe not to have a book come out this year, but to sell a book. I've pitched my story a few times, and it seems like there's interest, and I know there's something in it. All I have to do is to practice my craft and do it—that's what all of us need to do.
Getting published is a lofty goal, I know. But it's possible. And I'm going to do it, dammit! I know I won't be able to do it with only force of will, but I know that everyone can do it with hard work and persistence. Come with me, and we'll do this together.
Thanks for wreading!
Jeff
As for me, it's been hectic, but good nonetheless. After a two-week stay in the hospital, I'm free again and just barely managed to get my wife a few gifts for Christmas. Things turned out well, and I'm looking forward to my eleventh anniversary on January 2nd. It seems weird that eleven years have passed, although we've got two and a half kids to show for it (oh, yeah. I forgot to mention it. My wife is pregnant. Yay!).
But there's something that's missing. And that's what I've decided to rant/pout/whine/write/brood about today. But before that, let me take you back to the beginning of my writing "career."
Back in the day when I'd taken my wife and son to Japan to live, I hated my English-teaching job. Hate isn't a strong enough word. The only solace I had was ramen and Coke. Then I had a realization when we were going to have dinner at a friend's house. I didn't just want to be a linguist. I'd wanted to be a writer since I was twelve.
About a month later, I got a job as a translator/editor/writer for an advertising agency in Tokyo. I began reading as much as I could. I began writing as often as I could, which usually happened when I was done with work. It was a pain to cram all that typing into a day, but somehow I managed it. Once we came back to the States, I had a job as a technical writer within a week, and was freelancing on the side within another two. Writing had not only become something I felt confident in, it had become my life in a very real sense.
Then epilepsy hit me. I couldn't do things I used to do. The medications I took (and still take) slowed my ability to think so much that I lost my job. It felt (and still feels) like life was over because my ability to write and earn a living was gone.
But I realized this was a blessing in disguise. Since then, I've been able to focus entirely on my creative writing, which is what I've always wanted to do whether I realized it or not. I've now gotten into the revision stage of my first book, and finished the rough draft of my second. I'm able to write each day, and I don't think I ever would have been able to do it years ago when I was working as hard as I was.
And so that brings me to now. With leaving behind 2017 and ringing in 2018, I'm starting to think forward to what I'm hoping to accomplish this upcoming year. Naturally, I'm hoping to read a lot more books. After all, writing is a natural outgrowth of my passion, which is reading.
But that brings me back to the thing that's missing. I'm still not out there. I'm trying as hard as I can to get my work revised and polished as well as it can be.
And there we have it. My goal for this year is to get published. Maybe not to have a book come out this year, but to sell a book. I've pitched my story a few times, and it seems like there's interest, and I know there's something in it. All I have to do is to practice my craft and do it—that's what all of us need to do.
Getting published is a lofty goal, I know. But it's possible. And I'm going to do it, dammit! I know I won't be able to do it with only force of will, but I know that everyone can do it with hard work and persistence. Come with me, and we'll do this together.
Thanks for wreading!
Jeff
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