How I'm reclaiming my dream to be a novelist and building a community of cheerleaders

I am reclaiming my dream to be a writer because of my husband. I was reminded of it by him. A couple of years ago, I was supporting our household with my business while he pursued his dream of becoming a professional cornhole player. He had set us up with some passive income and managed that, but he really had a lot of freedom in his schedule. And passion...so much passion and enthusiasm.  I thought it was more excitement than I had felt for anything.  I had excitement for my business helping nonprofits with their technology, but not in the same way. He had so much determination and tenacity.  After a year and a half of seeing him pursue his dream, I told him I wanted to have something like that.  I didn’t feel I had it.

Without hesitation he said, “You should write.”

I didn’t even think I had told him about a passion I had for writing. Sure, I told him I went to journalism school, but I don’t even think I told him I enjoyed creative writing. I might have in our first conversations, because he was writing four hours every morning. We had a creative writing date where we body doubled for an hour, and after I read him what I wrote, he was floored. He said it would’ve taken him many drafts to get close to what I had written. He stopped writing soon after this date...I think it may of discouraged him, but he never said so.  Our relationship just took up a little more room.

The conversation where he told me I should write was five years after the writing date. As I reflected on his encouragement, I realized all the times I had wanted to pursue something more creative. I’d just forgotten about the dream entirely.

I had put up barriers on myself around writing—money being one. I graduated in 2004 with a journalism degree — I really wanted to write feature articles for a magazine. I got an internship at a nonprofit, writing feature pieces for a youth newsletter at the Women’s Sports Foundation. I redesigned the whole thing to align with a new campaign they were promoting called “Go Girl Go.” I called sports agents, set up interviews, and wrote the articles. Apparently, I worked faster than any other intern they had. I finished assignments quickly and filled time with extra research for a women’s sports facts database. I hope they still have that database twenty years later...but I digress.

During that internship, I remembered a creative writing professor who said, “If you write a page a day, you’ll have 365 pages at the end of the year.” So I wrote a page a day and finished a young adult novella. I sent it to a couple publishers and bought a Publishers Weekly at the bookstore. Self-publishing was looked down on, and I didn’t understand editing. My boss and some interns gave positive feedback, but I didn’t think I was doing that great.

I started remember the times in my life that I had wanted to do this and stopped.

I sent out 250 resumes and couldn’t get a journalism job. I had writing expertise, but journalism was on the downswing. Blogs were just beginning. I joined the Atlanta Progressive News for a bit and wrote articles but left that and got a full-time nonprofit job—through someone at my childhood church. I wrote a PR release as part of the interview and somehow landed the job.

That job involved some writing, but I also wore a lot of hats: marketing, tech, fundraising. I was passionate about the cause and really enjoyed the job. But I got into a not-so-great relationship. That person looked down on my favorite author, John Irving, said he wasn’t literary. He had unpublished novelists in his family, and I started to doubt my creative writing. I met him when I was teaching a creative writing workshop at a youth camp. That relationship brought me down, and I let go of the dream.

I didn’t write. I wish I had a book like Big Magic—which is the first book in our book club series for Vision Catching.

A few years ago, I saw my husband being so passionate about cornhole—he wants to go pro—and I was jealous. I didn’t feel that kind of passion anymore. I had some passion for my consulting business helping nonprofits, but not like that. He looked at me and said, “You should be a writer.”

We had had that writing date five or six years earlier. I came up with the idea to continue a short story, which became chapter one of my debut novel. The idea of a Vision Catcher who helps the protagonist escape her abusive marriage—and explores lost dreams—just came to me.

I dug in. I tried making an accountability WhatsApp group for beta readers, sent out a chapter every Sunday… but that dropped off. I didn’t have a good habit or leave space for this dream.

It took me a while to get my footing. Once I joined a writer’s critique group and hired a book coach for three months, I pushed through writer’s block. I kept going.

I was supporting my husband’s cornhole dream. Finally, burnt out on tech work, I asked, “When is it my turn?” We had the funds. We live frugally. I wanted him to pursue his dream, but I wasn’t passionate about mine anymore.

So, I dwindled down my client list. I’d already done some of this. I had health difficulties—epilepsy, seizures twice a month, talk of brain surgery. It was a lot. I had an anchor client giving me hours, I’d created courses—but writing fell behind.

I’m so grateful to my husband for giving me the space—and to Jen, who showed up every morning at 8 AM to write with me. During this time, he went back to being a handyman, which built up quickly. I also had service packages and course sales, so we made it work.

I had forgotten how much writing meant to me. I loved creative writing in elementary school. Took the one elective in middle school. Considered an MFA. Went to a master’s program for writing. I blocked it out while earning money and needing health insurance. Thank God for the ACA—I couldn’t have done this without it.

So yes, my husband reminded me of my talent. I began studying the craft again. Having the space and not needing to earn full-time income got me going.

But what sustained me? People I could rely on.

I was mostly writing an hour a day, sometimes more. That hour sustained me. Jen showed up every morning. That accountability helped me finish the novel.

My husband reminded me of my passion. Jen helped me complete the book—by simply showing up. That’s key. There are so many distractions, so many responsibilities—work, family, the house.

Most recently, I took a class called HB90, taught by Sarra Cannon. It’s for writers, but anyone can use it. It helps you organize your goals in 90-day chunks. I’m excited to use it to be even more productive next quarter—including launching this blog and creating community.

The hardest part of the imagination process is being blocked. I’ll probably write some posts on how to get past writer’s block using ChatGPT—it helps, but I’d rather have a person be my cheerleader.

So, I reclaimed this lost vision because my husband reminded me of my talent—and I fetched those memories of how important it was to me.

That’s why the first step in this program I’m developing is reaching out to others. People who know you and can speak to your strengths.

Hopefully something has been burning inside you—something you really want to do. We stop ourselves because of imposter syndrome, fear, whatever.

But if we just inch forward—I know it sounds cliché—but that’s why I’m creating this community: so we can inch our way to our goals together.