Last
spring my first book was published by Harlequin Mills&Boon. This month my
third book, The Duke’s Unexpected Bride, has hit the shelves and I still can’t
quite believe it. Becoming a published writer has changed my life in quite a
few ways, mostly for the better.
First
off, I’ve cut back (drastically) on my other career and now spend an obscene
number of hours at the kitchen table, writing. I have a work study but in my
mind that is associated with my other job and doesn’t do much for my creative
juices. My kitchen overlooks the garden and the fruit trees and the green and
quiet are perfect for writing.
Then
there’s the internal/external image change. When people ask me what I do, I no
longer tell them about my ‘other’ job. I actually say – I write books. Would
you hazard a guess if that evokes a different response than ‘business
consultant’? Whether the response is positive or negative (yes, there are
those, of course), it’s never neutral.
But
those are just surface changes. The real changes are internal. I’ve had a few
careers in my life but only one vocation – I’ve always known I love writing
stories, but I never really believed I would be published or do it for a living
(the latter part is still pending – writing, like many creative professions, is
financially challenging).
There
is always a danger in dreams coming true - they lose the shiny haze of the Potential
and take on the hard, elbow grease glaze of the Actual. Writing is just like
any profession – it is very hard work, a chunk of which has nothing to do with
the creative process. The joys of creation far outweigh the slog, but it is a
constant balancing act. Even once you are published you can obviously still
fail at any point. Now the stakes are higher than they ever were – if the dream
is no longer a potential but an actual, failure would be actual too.
But
being a business consultant, I was at least prepared for that part of The
Change. What I wasn’t prepared for was a completely different loss – my
daydreams.
Until
I became a published author a large part of my creative process was daydreaming
dreaming. Some people need to read a book before they go to sleep, I needed to
write one – or at least imagine one.
Sometimes
when I was stuck on a hard project at work I would take a few minutes, make a
cup of tea, and daydream away. My mind would slip into an alternate world and
all my worries and woes and tensions would melt and fade and so would I. Every
night I could sail off in the arms of another of my wonderful heroes into a new
adventure, commitment free.
Here
is a quote on dreams from the English Patient I knew was ‘written about me’
when I read it: “Moments before sleep are when she
feels most alive, leaping across fragments of the day, bringing each moment
into the bed with her like a child with schoolbooks and pencils. The day seems
to have no order until these times, which are like a ledger for her, her body
full of stories and situations.”
But
now everything is different – every ounce of my creative juice is conserved for
my writing. I don’t intend it to be that way, but I am living and breathing my
novels and the moment I close my eyes I am deep in them, tangling with tales,
wrestling with plot twists, and milking every second of creative time to refine
and deepen my writing. There is a different kind of beauty in these moments –
the characters in my novels become dear to me, or frustrating, but always
important, and I can’t treat them casually like I used to once indulge in my
day-dreams. I miss my no-strings-attached daydreams but accept that they will
never be quite the same again.
Maybe
it is part of growing up as an author – our dreams mutate with us.
So
I will end on another quote, this time from Neil Gaiman: “A book is a dream that you hold in your hands”. I’m
holding three dreams in my hands now, all mine, and my head is filled with many
more, simmering on the boil and waiting their turn with varying degrees of
impatience. So even if my daydreams have been overtaken, it is a small price to
pay for living my dream.
Excerpt from The Duke’s Unexpected Bride (May 2017)
'May I have my sketch back, please?’ Sophie asked.
Something in Max’s dark grey eyes as they moved over her face
increased her already significant discomfort. Then his mouth relaxed, bringing
to the surface the amused warmth she had glimpsed before.
'Would you consider giving it to Hetty?’ he asked. ‘I think she
would love to have it. She is not my wife, by the way, but my sister, hence the
resemblance.'
Sophie’s face heated with a sudden burning blush.
'Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I always say more than I ought. Of course
you may give it to her. Here.'
She held it out to him, wishing the blush would fade.
He reached for it just as Marmaduke awoke with a snort and she
started and the sketch slipped from her grasp. The pug, his eye catching the
fluttering page, readied himself to leap but she managed to capture it just as
he grabbed for it as well. His hand closed half on the page, half on her bare
hand and she drew back, shocked by the heat of his touch. It had only been a
second but her skin retained the imprint of his fingers and her body tingled as
if it had been dipped in hot water.
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Twitter: @laratemple1
1 comment:
congratulations for being able to follow your dreams
denise
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