A true story, the “take-a-seat, this-may-take-awhile” bedtime story that I tell my six year-old daughter to explain how I ended up as a Debutante Author of a book that will be published in less than – holy smokes – four months:
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who wanted to write. Her name was Mia King.
She absconded her parents’ manual typewriter when she was in the third grade and began pecking out stories. An avid journalist, she maintained a diary for years and declared early on that she would grow up to be a writer. Her parents rolled their eyes. Mia wasn’t daunted.
But life–and the media–began to wear on her and it became clear that writing wasn’t exactly a lucrative career. In fact, it was most certainly the fastest ticket to poverty. So Mia went to college, got a degree, and went to work for a large accounting and consulting firm. She got to travel and spend money on clothes and cute shoes. Still, she felt the nagging call to write something other than client proposals and corporate finance reports.
So she quit her job and gave herself a year to write The Novel. It was tough, but she did it. She went to a writing conference. She even found an agent. And then she got cold feet.
She left the agent-author contract unsigned, shelved the manuscript, and went back to work doing something that was safe and predictable. She eventually got married, had children (“Yes, that’s you and Eric …”), moved to Hawaii, and opened up a golf academy with her husband. The husband had been there when she had written The Novel and was always encouraging her to write, but now eight years had passed. Eight long years. And Mia finally decided it was time to get her act together and write. Again.
The Novel was dated so she started fresh. The result? GOOD THINGS. And while she still has to keep her day job, Mia’s happy doing something she loves.