Outside Looking In
Author: Monica McCabe
Original Publication Date in Love Notes: July 2001

At what point does one become an author? 

Is it when your first letter to the editor is published? Or the articles you write for your employer’s quarterly newsletter? Maybe that commentary published in the local newspaper? How about volunteering at church to write the next update for their history booklet? 

I have done them all, yet somehow the prestigious title of “Author” is elusive still. Maybe getting paid for your work is the key. I have yet to profit from my words, but surely the thrill of seeing your name in print must be the same. 

My inner voice tells me I will qualify if I write a book. Not just any book. A romance. Here was a chance to release the imagination, an outlet for the stories clamoring in my head. But how does one take a need to create and turn it into a publishable book? It’s not as easy as reading a few hundred romances and saying “I can do that!” 

The doing is the hard part, and several misguided attempts revealed a serious need for instruction. Thus began a mission. I subscribed to Writer’s Digest and Romantic Times, bought and studied books on the craft of writing, took night classes at the local community college, attended seminars and book fairs. 

Then I bravely took a giant step and joined Romance Writers of America. I was nervous. I would be in the company of experienced writers. But what better place to learn more of the trade? I would discover mysterious things like market analysis, publishing house differences and agents. I could enjoy workshop opportunities and conferences. 

The result is a mind awhirl with proper syntax, verb usage, witty dialogue and vivid description. Creativity is threatening to bog down with technique! As I struggle through the jungle of education, I wonder...when do you find time to write? 

You steal it, that’s how. You proclaim pizza or peanut butter and jelly as supper then write in the evenings. Carry your current chapter on disk and slip it into the PC at work, secretly flipping between chapter X and accounting spreadsheets. Guilt nags at your conscience — laundry needs done, flowers need trimming, the cat wants attention. Survival means learning to balance the demands of life with the longing of your heart. 

My husband often wonders what I am writing, but I won’t show it to him. It’s not finished, I’ve got to polish that chapter, change that paragraph. I guard my words like a protective mother hen. Dealing with an irrational fear that if he or someone else reads my creation and scoffs, my creativity will deflate. Much like the proverbial Indian who does not want his picture taken because the magic box will steal his soul. 

It is daunting, this task I have set for myself. Why couldn’t I love poetry or short stories? Why must I feel the need to create a twenty-six chapter historical romance? 

Because I love to read them. I love losing myself in the details, the history, the settings, the challenges set forth for deserving characters. But most of all, I crave the belief that the power of love has the ability to conquer all. 

Every word, every paragraph I place on paper, I grow stronger. I have discovered the satisfaction of a well-phrased sentence, and it is addictive. So I continue to string them together until I have a scene, a chapter, and hopefully, someday, a book. 

While others are brave enough to share their work, to venture out and attend the National Conference, I still say, maybe next year I will be ready. By then I will have built up the courage to release my words for scrutiny, be strong enough for constructive criticism, and knowledgeable enough to deserve the title “Author.”

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