Step 1: You like books. A lot. You read all the time, and sooner or later you catch yourself thinking: writing can’t be that hard. Look how many books there are in the world! I wonder if I should give it a go?
Step 2: You give it a go. You fail spectacularly. You have no idea what to say. How in the world do writers get their ideas?
Step 3: You abandon the idea and get a sensible job. Time to grow up, right?
Step 4: You work several years in your sensible job. It doesn’t set your world on fire, but it’s fine. It was the right thing to do, it pays the bills. So what if you’re bored and feel like your life is over? That’s adulthood, baby.
Step 5: The idea of writing, long buried deep inside you, starts to tentatively knock on your insides. “Hey, remember me?”
Step 6: You remember. Turns out, you never forgot.
Step 7: You have an idea of what to write, but there are approximately 729 reasons why you shouldn’t do it. All 729 reasons are playing on a loop in your brain like a news ticker: you can’t do it nobody will read it you will embarrass yourself you’re too stupid you don’t know how to start nobody cares what you think it’s narcissistic to write about your life you are self-obsessed what will your parents think what if it’s terrible what if … what if … what if …
Step 8: Fear talks you out of the idea for another 3-5 years. But the idea is patient. It curls back up again and goes for another nice long nap.
Step 9: You’re now in your 30s. You’ve read Anne Lamott, Elizabeth Gilbert, Brené Brown. They tell you to get your head out of your ass. They tell you that not doing the thing you haven’t been able to stop thinking about for nearly 20 years will break your heart. They tell you to kick Fear out of the driver’s seat. They insist that it’s about time you take charge of your own life. You listen, and with shaking hands and trembling legs, you carefully get behind the wheel.
Step 10: You write. A lot. It’s very bad at first. The words sometimes flow easily, but more often they are hard to find. They are unwieldy, yet slippery like gossamer. You learn the hard way that “I’ll remember” is a cruel lie. If you don’t write down an idea within seconds of it flitting through your sieve of a mind, it will be lost forever.
Step 11: You always assumed that writers are in control of what they write. You assumed wrong. The idea that’s been lying in wait for many, many years inside you is done with waiting. It wants to be brought to life now, no excuses.
Step 12: You have no choice. You bring it to life.
Steps 13: Even though you have no idea how to do anything, there’s Google. And a certain stubborness you blame on your German upbringing. If you want to figure something out, you will figure it out.
Step 14: With the help of Google and people and a hybrid publisher, you publish your first book.
Step 15: You experience crippling imposter syndrome.
Step 16: It’s bad, man. You run away and hide.
Step 17: While in hiding you write your second book. You self-publish that one and tell almost nobody about it.
Step 18: You turn 40. You start therapy. You figure some shit out.
Step 19: You learn a few important things about yourself, finally. One of them? Writing makes you happy. Writing books makes you ecstatically happy. You can define success however you want, regardless of how the world defines it. For you, success means bringing the thoughts in your head to life by putting them on paper and releasing them into the world. What happens after that is not your concern.
Step 20: You realize that you have a lot of books inside you. Getting ideas isn’t a problem after all. They are everywhere!
Step 21: You write down the story that wants to be told the most. You are still not in charge of what to write, but you’re fine with it now. You are just along for the ride, and it’s a wild one.
Step 22: You are not afraid of hard work anymore. “Isn’t it a lot of work?” they ask. You shrug. “Yes. So?”
Step 23: Today is your third book’s birthday. After crippling imposter syndrome (book #1) and secrecy (book #2), you have arrived at a destination you’ve been heading towards for many, many years: at being an author. You finally feel like one.
Unapologetically.
🫶🏼
Eeeee!! So happy for you and us that we get to read you:)