When I was 15 years old, I was sitting in sophomore high school English class when my teacher, (hi Mrs. Wheeler) said we were going to study Arthurian Legend literature.
I had a moment which was something between a sense of foreboding and an elated premonition.
As my teacher set the required reading on my desk (The Hollow Hills by Mary Stewart), I had an ecstatic sense of knowing. If I opened that book, I would never be able to close it again. My motherfarking destiny waited within those pages.
I also realized, in that moment, that I was supposed to spend my life as a writer. This was an agreement I had made at some point, maybe on the level of my soul, and I’d shown up at the appointed place, at the appointed time, to begin.
I wasn’t sure I was ready.
But the book was required reading so I gamely opened it and started the journey. (Was it free will, Nancy? Was it fate? We may never know.)
That began a lifetime of studying history and learning to writing. (Damn it, i still haven’t got it…)
So I wrote a book.
It sank into the swamp.
So I wrote ANOTHER book!
It sank into the swamp.
So I wrote a THIRD book!
That one burned down, fell over, and sank into the swamp.
But I kept working.
This is a feeling that a lot of writers know.
When you think you suck—when the best response your work receives is Nancy raising her eyebrows and going “hmm”—the only thing you can do is keep going, and trust that you’ll get there someday.
I studied writing in college in an attempt to get better at it.
I dropped out of college and took random crap jobs.
I tried to forget about writing altogether.
I worked as a personal assistant, a retail clerk in a shoe store, and a secretary in a spiritual center.
One day I realized that I couldn’t spend my life in these shirt jobs. I was going to live a long time (shut up, Nancy, leave my idealism alone), and I had to figure something else out. There was no other option.
I decided to try my hand at freelance writing.
I moved back home with my parents (a truly difficult decision), and two years later my writing career was up and running. I had a steady stream of regular clients who I liked, and who liked me. I was supporting myself with words. No one was more surprised than me.
These days, my freelance copywriting career supports me very well. I get to make my own schedule, travel, choose who I work with, choose what I write, and discover ever greater expanses of freedom and happiness in life.
And I still feel like I’m only beginning.
In the author’s note of The Hollow Hills, Mary Stewart tied it all up with the blessing, “I hope this book sends you on a journey.”
Thanks, Ms. Stewart. I owe you one.
L. Marrick
PS – Nancy, I know you’re the one sending all the spam, I activated Akismet and nobody else knows about the oatmeal thing but you. Try harder.
Here is a picture of me.
