Despite my deep love for writing, this is the first blog I’ve ever had. Well, I did have a LiveJournal for a couple of years, but no one was ever supposed to read that and when they did, it nearly killed me.
That’s a story for another time, though.
What I want to write about in this first post is about how daunting a task it is to start a blog. Do I pay for a domain name, or do I get a free one? If I pay for a domain name, should I pay for the theme to make it stand out? How do I make it stand out? Will it be successful? Will people read it?
Will people read it?
As a writer, that’s the number one question forever present in my mind. I think, or like to believe, that all writers and poets and artists and musicians and creators wonder the same thing, respective to their crafts. Not only does it provide a sense of community, it also makes me feel more normal; like it’s just a thing I’m going through and if one goes through something, that implies the thing has an end. And who doesn’t want their insecurities, fears and anxieties to end?
I thought they might end last Friday, when Martin Sisters Publishing offered a contract to publish my debut novel, Her Beautiful Monster (hence the title of the blog). I wrote it during my sophomore, junior and senior year of college when I was slightly more optimistic and tragically lonely. I listened to music by Amanda Palmer, had a crazy dream and boom! I had an idea for a novel.
I’d been writing since time out of mind, but had yet to complete a longer project. I had written poems and short stories which were well-received (as expected) by family members. My elementary school teachers really liked my poems and encouraged me to continue writing. In middle school, I went through something of a dark and childish period and often cringe when I pull these relics of writings from the dark, deep drawers I’ve banished them to. High school was different, just like everyone had always promised; I took a creative writing class and hit my stride. My teacher raved about my short story “Cover Me,” and it was published in the school’s literary magazine. I was as proud as could be, and tried to be humble about it. It was an awkward line to navigate, and it all ended up going to hell when one of the Spanish teachers pulled me out of lunch to sign her copy of the magazine.
I had a taste of the dream, and instantly developed an insatiable appetite for more.
That’s not to say I’m totally allowing my imagination to run away with me. I have a vague understanding that this publishing could lead to nothing, that my novel might not be well-received and I could be resigned to a life of obscurity.
But maybe I’m on the edge of becoming something great. I’m obviously praying for the latter, and would love nothing more than to have others join me, whether they be friends, fans, aspiring authors, fellow artists; anything goes.