Personal Development

Why I gave up on my dream

I started writing stories at the age of 5. At 8, I asked my dad if I could use his computer to write a book. He agreed, and for months I typed my story of Constance, my main character, using some kind of DOS software (all I remember is a black screen with orange letters). When I was 10, my best friend and I wrote a publishing company to figure out how to get a novel published. They were kind enough to send a brochure, but I believe they published Christian materials, which wasn’t really my genre. At 12, I had handwritten a 125-page novel (it apparently was too “grown up” for the computer). Throughout high school and even college, I drummed up tons of stories. As late as last year, I told people that I was working on my first novel. And, it was true.

There was just a one problem: They all sucked. Totally stinking sucked.

So, I stopped writing stories. I gave up. My dream of writing a novel was dead.

I was a little depressed about it, too. All this time I had been preparing myself for my big novel, the day I walked into Barnes & Noble and saw my novel, with my name in huge letters, on the best sellers rack. Although I had always wanted to write more literary fiction, somewhere along the line, I thought I’d be better at Chick Lit, so it’d probably be a pink cover with a tall, skinny girl carrying a latte and my name in some cutesy font. I would have preferred something a little more serious, but I knew I couldn’t pull it off. So, pink cover it was. Now, I had to find something new to aspire to, a new dream. No more pink cover.

Then, it happened.

My husband introduced me to blogs. I started to see that they weren’t just diaries of random people, but could actually add value to my life. And, I wanted to be a part of it. So, I started writing at Girl Meets Business, and I love it. Really love it. Which is funny because, truth be told, when I was writing those books before, especially in high school, college and thereafter, I really didn’t like what I was doing. I felt like I had to write a novel. That was, after all, my dream. The one I had been talking about since I was 5.

But, it was drudgework, at times torturous. I didn’t like what I was doing, and that said, I guess it’s no surprise that it sucked. It’s hard to do well at something well when you don’t like doing.

So, I guess my dream isn’t really dead. It’s just tweaked, just different. I’m still writing, just about professional development and not about Constance. My name may not be in squiggly letters on the cover a book but, in a way, I’m living my dream.

photo credit: david.orban