By: Joelle Charbonneau
When I started the first page of my first book, I knew
nothing about the craft of writing or about the publishing industry. I wanted to tell a story. I wanted to see how the story would end. The funny thing is that by hitting THE END of
that story, a whole new story began. The
story of a unicorn.
I started writing in 2003.
And as I am fond of pointing out, I never took an English class in
college. There was nothing that made me
qualified to write a book other than the fact that I sat down at the computer
and decided to try. And wow did I
try. And try. And try.
Each book racked up dozens of rejections. During that time, e-publishing through
Amazon, B&N and other sources had begun to grow at an amazing rate. Lots of writers I knew ditched the idea of
traditional publishing in order to independently publish their work. I cheered them on. Meanwhile, I kept writing.
Why?
That question comes up a lot when I talk to writers
groups. Do I think those books were
bad? The first one is. Trust me on this. It is BAD!
But the others – I don’t think so.
None of them were bad. Readers might
have enjoyed them, but I’ll never find out if that is true.
I put them to the side because
deep in my heart I wasn’t sure I was good enough to be an author.
I grew up reading any book I could get my hands on. I loved stories and books and thought authors
were different from the people I knew because they had the power to make worlds
and characters come alive on the page. They made me gasp and my heart pound. They made me
sigh and cry. They were like
unicorns. They weren’t quite of this
earth. They were magic.
So, perhaps it isn’t strange that I was skeptical that I,
who while growing up had never considered being a writer or who had never taken
a single creative writing class, could ever write a book that was good enough
to be read. I doubted that I could ever
be a unicorn.
Each manuscript taught me something new. Every day I wrote made me better. But still I doubted. Until finally, I found a literary agent who
said that she believed in my book. She believed in me.
Those words were a kind of magic. A validation that I might some day be good
enough to be an author. And when that
manuscript (my fifth completed novel) sold to St. Martin’s Minotaur, I waited
for the magic spell that would make believe I was a unicorn.
The spell never came.
The first book came out.
It got positive reviews from the trades and found a home with readers
who embraced Elwood the Camel and Rebecca Robbins. And still I waited for the magic. That moment where I believed I had the right
to call myself an author.
I’ve published 9 books since the Fall of 2010. The 10th will come out on June 17th
of this year. I’ve been nominated for
some awards (how did that happen?), have seen my work on the New York Times
list (HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?) and have signed thousands of copies of title pages
that bear my name. I always thought
those would be the things that made me feel like a real author. And while I’m grateful for all of them, they
were not the magic spell that made me believe I had the right to claim the
title as my own.
A little over four years ago, a group of writers asked me if
I’d be willing to blog with them. Many
of them were multi-published novelists.
Others had a slew of short fiction or film scripts to their names. They were all talented and smart and writers
I admired.
And they wanted me.
They believed in me. They still
believe in me.
Looking back, I realize that the journey to becoming an
author was filled with important milestones and moments. Some like my first call with my agent or
hitting the New York Times list are big, huge, noisy moments. Others are quiet, like finding the perfect
hook to a chapter while sitting in the living room while everyone else in the
house is asleep. And then there are
moments like the day that I was asked to join Do Some Damage. The day where my fellow writers by their
request made me realize that even if I didn’t feel like one – I really was a
unicorn.
Or I guess I should say I am a unicorn. How strange is that?
I am honored and lucky and so thrilled to have this job and
to have shared this blog with so many incredibly talented writers for the last
4 years. And I am humbled by every
reader who has given me the most precious gifts you can give – your time and
attention. You have made these past four
years on this blog an incredible experience.
And now it is my turn to share that experience with someone else.
It is time for me to step aside. Although, you won’t get rid of me. I plan on guest posting whenever I can swing
it and I will always consider myself a member of Do Some Damage. But after four years on Do Some Damage,
surrounded by the most amazing and supportive group ever, the time has come for
me to give another author a chance to shine.
And trust me – she is going to shine bright.
Kristi Belcamino is an incredible unicorn. Her debut novel, Blessed Are The Dead, will
be published on June 10th from Harper Collins. It’s going to be one heck of a ride.
The ride on Do Some Damage will start next Sunday with
Kristi’s first post. I hope she enjoys
her time with you as much as I have.
So, I guess I will sign off this last post saying Thank
you. Thank you to the Do Some Damage
gang for believing in me. I hope I have
done you proud. And thank you to each
and every reader who has taken time out of your day in order to spend it with
me. You make me believe in magic. You are the ones who have made me a unicorn.
