My first scathing review did not come from an editor, literary agent or publisher; it came from my sister. I had not completed my first manuscript yet, but I had covered most of the plot. I was eager for another pair of eyes to look at my work, but I was also apprehensive. There was a possibility that she wasn’t going to enjoy or appreciate my book.
Why my sister, you may ask; because she was the smartest person I knew. Whenever I converse with her, I can tell that she is thinking. She is not the kind to regurgitate gossip or wives’ tales as fact. I knew that she would be honest with me. Plus she reads the classics. I think at the time she was reading Anna Karenina.
Continue reading “The First Scathing Review”
My decision to write a book wasn’t this instant light bulb moment. It was an idea I toyed with for some time. Truth be told, several years before this decision, I imagined that I would write a book one day.
Back then, I was only reading nonfiction. I was in my early twenties, and I thought I had become too grown up for fiction (George R.R. Martin changed this perspective for me – a conversation for a later post). After all, what was the point of investing hours (which could translate to days or weeks) reading something that would teach me nothing? So I would write nonfiction, I told myself. Continue reading “Writer’s Beginnings”