Five years ago—somewhere between too many coffees and too many visits to the psychiatrist—I finally sat down to write the saga that had been spinning in my head for years. It was time. The stories, the voices, the haunted places—they wouldn’t wait any longer.
Since then, I’ve thrown myself into this world. I write every day, often for hours. I’ve researched until my eyes burned and the screen blurred. I’ve taken trips to key locations, walking where my characters walk, learning what they need to know to breathe fully on the page.
Now, five years later, I’ve written four books in the series. And for the first time, I think I’m done. The first book is ready—really ready—to send to an agent. That’s a step I’ve never taken before. Wish me luck.
My characters have taken on lives of their own. Sometimes they slip into my real world—I’ve caught myself calling friends by a character’s name more than once. Oops. I suppose that’s the sign of a story well-lived… but I’ll try to keep it in check. Maybe.
Now comes the business side of writing. The query letter. The dreaded synopsis. Somehow, I’m expected to distill a nearly 400-page novel (double-spaced!) into a two-sentence pitch, a logline, a tagline—a hook sharp enough to snag a stranger’s attention in seconds. It threatens to swallow me whole, but I’m doing my best to learn the ropes.
And then there’s the author website. I’ve spent two full weeks wrestling with it. Turns out, I’m a bit tech-challenged. Okay, more than a bit. But I’m determined to get it right—if it’s the last thing I do. The pages have to link up, the design has to make sense, and I will figure it out. Eventually.
This whole writing business is a wild mess. A beautiful, maddening, soul-stretching mess. I might lose a few hairs and collect a few scraped knees along the way, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Deborah Sickle Hill 