First, you get really excited and sit down to write the next best selling novel.
You get completely into it. To the point where it actually feels easy.
See my mad typing skills? I’m fast. What? Allow me my foolish pride in one of the few things I’m actually good at, okay?
You skip showering in favor of having a few more minutes to write. You become convinced that your words are powerful and will influence millions.
Eventually, you get a little bit stuck. Well, in fairness, I guess there are a lot of people out there who don’t get stuck, because there are an awful lot of books in the world…so perhaps I should say that eventually, I got stuck.
So you decide to take a little break.
And it turns into a longer break.
Then, one day, you realize that your own life is unique and that raising a boy who may or may not be on the autism spectrum and not having a diagnosis and who has pretty severe speech and language delays and other stuff, too, is probably something other people are going through.
So you open a shiny new file and title it “Memoir” and you start writing again.
And you write some more.
You bare your soul. You tell stories about how Tucker’s developmental delay affected participating in a mommy and me soccer class. You cry. You laugh. You tell your husband “this is gonna be a bestseller.”
You get to the point where you have 6,249 words in your memoir. And you’re really proud. You decide that you have enough words to start shopping for a publisher to see if there’s interest out there.
Then you find out that publishers hate memoirs. You read a website that says a publisher would rather shave a cat than read another memoir.
Friends, this is a lot of drawings for a post, so I’ve broken it up. Consider the above eyeball assaults Part 1 of the Evolution of a Blogger.
Want more? Here’s Part 2.