No Story is Wasted

Every author has to begin somewhere.

Those first few words we pen are often messy. They’re gritty with no flow or rhythm. And let’s not even mention plot because, most of the time, it’s not even there. We fumble around trying to figure out this thing called “writing.” We’re learning to understand our own style and the voice (whatever the heck that means) that belongs uniquely to us. Some writers will have begun their journey at an early age while others, like me, will have embarked on this quest well into adulthood.

I’ve been writing for three years. If you read The Story Begins then you know, my initial start began after completing graduate school in a very uncertain time of my life, but those first few attempts to start a novel lasted a whole of two days. After realizing how long it took to actually write a manuscript, I decided my time was better spent submitting my resume to anyone who would look at it.

Then COVID-19 made its debut.

Like most in the workforce, I was unceremoniously sent home to fight crime from the comfort of my couch with the kitchen a mere few feet away. Good for my soul but not my waist line. As an introvert, I thrive in solitude where I can sit with my own thoughts and zero social interactions. Though I know a vast majority of the population suffered during those months of isolation (and as an advocate for mental health, I do not diminish those struggles), I was living my best life.

For the first time in forever, I had time.

Time to read. Time to spend with my family. Time to rest. It was in the midst of this newfound freedom that I finally picked my laptop back up, dusted off that rusty manuscript I had started two years prior and began again. Over a month, I wrote a 100,000 word manuscript, which for those not in the know, that’s longer than most contemporary adult novels but smaller than a fantasy book. I felt ecstatic. I’d spent every waking moment not doing my job, eating, or sleeping working on that beast of a book and I thought to myself, “I’m going to publish this thing.”

Yes, my friends. I was under the grave misconception that my book, my first messy manuscript, was going to land me an agent and a book deal. Cue self-deprecating laughter. The sheer audacity of my own pride and hubris makes me cringe. It wasn’t until I was preparing for my first book conference (another story for another time), that I realized how awful that first manuscript actually was. All the telling instead of showing. The prologue that was 30 pages long. The adverbs.

So. Many. Adverbs.

Truly, the thing was atrocious, but even now, three years down the road, I realized that even that manuscript had a place in my writing journey. If I can give any aspiring writer a word of advice it’s this: No story is wasted. As I sit typing this blog, I have written two full manuscripts and started three others, and through each one, completed or not, I have learned a new lesson. The first taught me that I have much to learn and that my pride needs to take a back seat. Becoming a published author, whether its traditional publishing or indie publishing, will always require growth and correction. The first draft of any manuscript is going to need polishing, readers will write bad reviews (sometimes warranted, sometimes not), and your skills as a writer should never become stagnant.

It was a hard lesson to learn. For sure. Letting go of that first manuscript meant admitting to myself that the story I had loved with all my heart wasn’t good enough. That I had to be willing to let it fade into obscurity. But I also found comfort in the letting go. It meant I had forward momentum. It meant that this one story I had written will forever be my worst and that, from here, I could only get better. So, I tucked that manuscript away, relinquishing it to the back corner of my cloud drive where it will never find the light of day.

And I moved forward to the next story.