I wrote my first novel longhand. No, I’m not that old that I didn’t have a laptop, but I didn’t have the sleek light-weight versions we do today. You’re probably wondering why I would do such a thing when I had a laptop and desktop in my apartment.
Let me take you back a ways. I was twenty-two when I wrote my first manuscript. I’d just graduated, moved to a new town, worked full-time, and pursued my master’s degree at night. This gave me little free time, but a habit of mind that formed through my youth, required I continue to scratch the itch. I liked to write stories and I like to journal. So, every day I wrote a little something. In the morning, at night, and even while I waited for my class to start. There I sat in the library at the university, writing a paragraph or page by hand with a pencil, pen, and yes, sometimes a fountain pen (no, I’m not kidding).
It’s funny how things manifest through small, repeated efforts.
After thirty minutes or an hour of writing most days of the week, I’d written a novel by the end of one year. Of course, I stuffed it away along with subsequent works at the time.
Recently, I pulled out that manuscript and read it. Believe it or not, it was pretty good. While a little rough, needing lots of editing and love, and some pages have tarnished and smudged over the years, it deserves to see the light. Though it survived seven moves around the country, the character resonated so deeply with me then and now, that I’ve weaved much of this story into an upcoming book.
I’ll let you know, dear reader, when this story hits the shelves. I can’t wait to see if you think it was worth my breathing new life into it. Funny how karma works too. Because this story is the perfect Book Two in one of my upcoming trilogies. Hang tight. More to come. But this time, via a laptop!