Hello, Anyone and Everyone!

This is rather strange for me. I would have never considered myself a blogger, but here we are. Life’s funny that way.

Whether you’re here because you are one of my cherished friends and family members, or you just happened upon my page: welcome, and thank you for being here.

When I decided I wanted to be a writer, I was a small girl with stars in her eyes and no concept of what adulthood would be like. I simply loved to write. There were so many stories in my heart, and during the age when it was socially acceptable to play pretend, I spent hours every day reenacting my favorite heroines: Hermione, the Charmed Ones, Elizabeth I, just to name a few. If there wasn’t a female lead, I made one up, inserted her into the story as if she’d been there from the start. It was probably maladaptive, but GOD did I have fun. As an adult, this has influenced my own stories. I want to write those strong, female characters that inspired me as a child, with the hopes that they too will inspire the next creative minds of our world.

As I said before, these were the dreams of a child. As I matured and realized just what the weight of adulthood felt like, I stopped writing. I convinced myself that I needed to choose a more practical career, one that was more of a guarantee. So I went to college, and after several failed attempts at selecting a major (I’m sure those of you who know me personally are laughing hysterically at this. Business Marketing was the start of this terrible and alcohol influenced journey through chaos), earned my degree in Psychology. I think even as an adult, my love of stories fueled this decision. I mean, aren’t we all composed of stories? We each have one, and I’ve discovered that one of my greatest joy’s in life is discovering a person’s story, understanding and empathizing with it when appropriate. One of my favorite book quotes is from The Song of Achilles. I am made of memories. Our memories are our stories. They shape us.

Now, you might be wondering how a woman with a BS Psychology who works in human services found her way back to writing. To be honest with you, it was a whirlwind, impulsive, and the most daring decision I have ever made. I am not a brave person. I wish I were, it’s just that risk frightens me. I like to joke that my entire body rejects change, which might be the anxiety and depression talking, but I digress.

Anyway, so imagine this: a very un-brave person who loves books more than people, is discussing on the phone one night how she wishes there were more specific stories in the world, a particular sub-genre of fantasy. And this person and their friend begin haphazardly throwing out ideas. It begins as a joke, but slowly, tentatively, this person realizes that they want to read this story, and the only they can is if they write it. Which is crazy, because this person works full time (often putting in overtime hours) and just adopted a puppy, who requires all the attention in the world and then some. Yet…they verbalize their intention, putting it out into the universe. There’s a witness, so they can’t take it back. They need that, another person, to hold them accountable. Because sometimes an entire world is created somewhere between friendly, late night whispers and hope.

I will not sit here and tell you the long, arduous process of world-building and character creating and plotting and research of different writing styles and tone and voice, and everything else that goes into writing a book. But I did it. It took me six months, but I did it. Then it was time to write, and I will tell you that I have never been more afraid of anything in my entire life than when I wrote my first sentence. I’m pretty, if memory serves me correctly, I open and closed the document at least five time before I had the courage to begin. Writers often talk about what imposter syndrome feels like, and maybe this is me personalizing, but I couldn’t help but feel it was SO much worse for me because I had just begun writing again. It hadn’t been a part of my life for nearly ten years, and here I was…believing I could write and ENTIRE book. I mean, that’s crazy. I felt crazy. Who was I to think that this was something I could accomplish? What gave me the right to think ANYONE would want to hear what I have to say, to read 500 pages of it? What if I failed? What then? There were so many people I’d already told about my plans and dreams. And while I received SO much, INCREDIBLE support, I saw the look in some people’s eyes when I told them what I was doing, what I hoped it would become.

Doubt.

And that doubt…it crept into my mind the way childhood monsters creep under the bed.

BUT, here I am, a year and a half later, with a completed manuscript that will be sent out to my editor within the month. Here I am, a NaNoWriMo 2021 winner, having already begun the first draft of the sequel. HERE I AM. A writer.

I guess the point of all this is twofold. One, this is me. If you found your way to my page, I can promise that there will only be kindness and honesty here. I will let you see into my process, my dreams and goals, the dark bits in between. And two, if you are a writer, or want to become one, DO IT. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that it will bring you success or money, but just as readers find themselves between the pages of a book, so a writer discovers their soul within the lines of their manuscript.

Do it.

BE BRAVE.

K.A. Earnest