Coming to grips

I think perhaps I was in shock the other day after finding out my third book had been accepted. I'm one of those people who have trouble believing it when good things happen too easily. Sure, I moan and complain when they don't, but when they do . . . it's just weird. But I am very happy, and again, I look forward to the release.

When I look back at writing the first book, which I've talked about way too much I'm sure, there's a feeling of pure love and happiness that it's all worked out. It was a rough road convincing people a ghost love interest had any real merit. At the time, it was cliché as hell. But to me, it was everything. From the moment I saw "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir" on TV in high school, I knew that I'd write about a specter and a human one day. I just didn't know how or when . . . or anything. I just knew. The funny thing is that when you finally allow yourself to believe in an idea, and you give of yourself completely, good things happen. I want all writers to know this. You can be young, or old, or rich, or poor, but if you have a dream, you have everything. And yes, making the dream come true entails a lot of hard work, but mostly I really, really enjoy this whole writing thing. Sometimes it's like I'm not actually working.

That's the key. I never knew how much I loved writing until I succumbed and just did it. All those excuses which kept me from writing the first page of this or that, and the doubts which nagged at me saying, "You don't know how to write. You only think you know. Writers are gifted people and you, my dear, are not gifted." Years went by with this inner dialogue. Then one day the image of a young man sitting alone in a library struck me. I could feel his feelings and hear his thoughts. I experienced such an urgent need to write about him and to save him from that loneliness. So, whatever that was, that bolt of inspiration, it saved me from the doubt. And I wish for all writers to have the same lightning strike of creativity. If it happens, don't let it go to waste. My 1950's ghost boy now appears in three books, and always, in my heart.

Nothing done in earnest will ever be wasted.

So, now I get to say I'm the writer of a trilogy. That's kind of wonderful. My hope is that I'll get to do something which, for some reason, never happened with the first book's release—to have a signing/reading. While I'm not holding my breath, it would be nice to do the proverbial 'author appearance' and relish in the public life of a literary figure. Or not. What I really do best is hang out in comfy clothes and brainstorm.

But really, the proper thing to do is hope for another great idea. And write, and write, and write.