I, M.C. Sheridan, Am A Writer

Most people who know me in person would say I’m an extrovert but the truth of it is I’m quite shy about my writing. It took months, almost a year, to tell anyone close to me about it and I’m still working on letting people into that part of my life.

Telling others about my writing made me feel vulnerable and exposed. It was this thing about myself that I coveted. What I had created with my heart and my mind was a collection of words that were born from ideas and images that flashed in my head and I held them tightly to my chest like Gollum held his precious. Every time I clicked save, I saw my worth in black letters on white background. Now I was about to give a piece of myself to friends, family, and strangers. I was entrusting them to take my world and critique it. The very idea made me nauseous.

My husband was, of course, the first to know of my writing and he was very supportive. Every day, he’d read over what I’d written and we’d discuss it. Sometimes we laughed, sometimes we disagreed and other times I was left feeling bummed out and sore because there was a less than enthusiastic review. At first, it was very hard for me to take criticism. I was baring my soul and gods help him if he didn’t gush over it. But over time I started seeing his point of view. Perhaps my run on sentences didn’t have a place in this story and maybe my poor grammar and punctuation needed to be addressed. Not to mention that gaping plot hole I just left right in the middle. Oops. My walls started to come down for him and in time I realized his critiques were helpful and needed. So very needed. I was after all a new writer and I knew I had a long way to go. Soon I realized that he was also my only reader and if I wanted more opinions, then I’d have to get them from other readers.

I came clean to a handful of friends at first. They were, of course, surprised since I hadn’t shown much interest in writing a novel before but they were very loving and supportive. After sending a couple of them my story, I was given some very positive feedback which made me worry that they were just being kind. I was so insecure and so sure that nobody would like it that even when they said they did, I dismissed it as kindness.

When I finally had the nerve to talk about my writing to a certain family member whose approval I wanted more than anything, I simply got “Well, that’s nice.” It crumpled my self-esteem. I was taking strides to go forward and to let people in, meanwhile, I let three words drive me right back. I cried that night. I cried many nights and hyperventilated many days. This novella, these words meant everything to me. I put everything into it, of course, I wanted encouragement. Of course, I wanted to be taken seriously.

Again, my amazing husband was there to pick up the pieces and help me tie together the ends of my fraying rope. “It doesn’t matter.” He’d say. “Just keep going.” And I did. Finally, I was ready to share it with the world. A few months back I got onto Twitter and despite the knot in my stomach, I made my very first tweet. It was scary and even a little exciting. Over the next few days, I started tweeting more, talking to other people and even joining in on conversations and writing games. It was fun and it really made me feel at home. One day, one very kind soul had posted a tweet about getting to know one another in the writing community and I thought “Oh, what the heck,” and introduced myself as a new writer. I was smiling ear to ear when they had tweeted to the writing community for others to follow me and in just two days I had over 300 followers. People were saying “hi” to me, I was being tagged in writing games and ‘get to know you’ tweets and becoming a real part of something very special. I was a part of an amazing community full of people who were right there with me. All these fabulous people were writers and artists, taking a piece of their souls and just wanting to share it with the world. I felt welcomed and accepted and because of their encouragement, along with my very closest loved ones, I truly felt like I was ready to take the next big step. So I did.

Just before my novella was ready to launch, I sent my story to a few reviewers. I’m pretty sure I hugged the porcelain bowl that night.

Before you know it I was announcing that the Kindle version was ready for pre-order on Amazon. I think I had close to three panic attacks that day. I got the proof copy of my book in the mail and I cried from happiness.

After everything I had gone through, after all the revisions and personal editing, after the tears of joy and sadness, it was done. I didn’t care if it would be a number one chart topper or only sold a few copies. I was an author. Everything I strived to achieve for myself I had done despite how scary almost every step of it was or how lonely at times it felt. At the end of the day, I can proudly say that I did it. I wrote a book. I, M.C. Sheridan, am a writer and no one can ever take that away from me.

Tldr; As soon as you put words to the screen or thoughts to paper, you are a writer. What happens after that is completely up to you.

Mantra of the day – Let inspiration take you. There’s so much more to you that even you didn’t know was there.