The Journey of a Writer and a Novel – The Release of Death in Disguise

3-4 minute read

“You cheating son of a bitch!” Muriel screamed at him.

That’s the first line of my novel, Death in Disguise. It took me ten years to get that sentence on paper to my satisfaction—not because of writer’s block. I wrote the first draft in a few months. But then fear took over.

Not fear of rejection from publishers. That’s part of the business. This was deeper: fear that my story wasn’t good enough—that I wasn’t good enough. So it sat on a shelf.

We talk a lot about writer’s block, but not enough about writer’s fear. For me, it was perfectionism, tangled in the belief that my debut had to be flawless or it wasn’t worth sharing. That kind of thinking leads to silence.

In those ten years, I wrote constantly. I filled binders with stories, red-inked drafts, and characters I loved. But envy started to creep in. Artists hang their work. Musicians perform. Writers? We wait to be read. Unless we’re published, our creations often stay invisible.

Eventually, I took a class called Writing from the Heart. It broke through the perfectionism. I began to understand that perfection is a myth—and often a trap. Growing up as a performer, I believed hard work equaled flawless results. In writing, that’s rarely the case. Without feedback, I kept polishing drafts in isolation, terrified to let them go.

I tried sharing with family and friends. Some promised to read but didn’t. I took it personally—maybe too personally. I confused their silence with rejection. I let it hurt my relationships, when really, it wasn’t about me. People have their own reasons. I had to learn that support doesn’t always look like a critique.

Eventually, my parents read a draft—and loved it. My daughter even edited one and said, “Mom, I couldn’t put this down.” That was the moment I started to believe in my work again.

I decided to publish Death in Disguise independently—not because I wasn’t good enough for a big publisher, but because I wanted full creative control. It was a steep learning curve, but I embraced every part of it. After years of fearing imperfection, I took the leap. I made the baby—I wanted to deliver it myself.

We all have voices in our heads—old mentors, harsh critics, even well-meaning family members—who plant doubt. But writing isn’t about impressing anyone. It’s about sharing something true. Screaming into the forest and hoping someone hears.

My book is finally out. I’m proud. Nervous. Ecstatic. And yes, a little scared. But this time, fear isn’t the driver. I am.

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ISBN: 9871497333420

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