When it dawned on me that I was born to write, I thought I had something special to offer. I knew it would only be a matter of time till my books were on the shelves and I was working on number 4… 5… 6… Even my first few rejections were scalps on my belt, scars that put me in good company of all those rejected writers who are now bandied around millions of homes at bedtime.
Then I joined Twitter.
And found myself in the trenches with dozens, no… hundreds of others, just like me. Hopefuls with heads full of stories, dreaming of the day we snag the attention of an agent, a publisher. Bravely picking ourselves up after yet another No Thank You, brushing up our queries and trying again. And again. And again.
Somewhere in all this I lost my sense of special. Turns out I’m not unique or alone in my dreams. A drowing voice in a noisy sea of many fish.
Yet, you know what else I’ve discovered? Here in the slush and mud of I-wanna-be-published are some of the most amazing people I’ve ever had the joy of getting to know. Writers with immense talent, characters honed by patient (and sometimes not so patient – go on, admit it…) waiting. Wordsmiths generous with everything they’ve learnt along the way, happy to share tools, always picking each other up and plodding on cyber-hand-in-hand.
And then I got it. Just because we share the same dreams & hopes, does that make each of us any less special? Do we still have a unique contribution to make to the hallowed halls of the published? Here’s the test – dump us all in a room with an alligator and ask us to write about it. No two stories will be the same. I see the alligator through eyes coloured by a life’s worth of experiences… and so do you. The khaki green of his back that I see, is different to the shade of green you see. The possibilities are infinite.
And so are the opportunities waiting for you and I. Let’s go get ’em!