Time to Kick Fear in the Butt (or Bum) Part 2

What a treat- you get to read part 2 of the blog almost immediately (don’t get used to this!)

So here’s the blog post I wrote just weeks after embarking on my FEAR induced solo trip to the US in 2014. It’s a bit long. Read half if you want. The second half, because that’s where it really gets good. Sort of.

 

Writers live two lives.

Or a thousand, depending on how many books they get to write.

The utopia when transported into another universe, country or time zone is quite unexplainable.  And to embody another human experience, the opposite of what you are used to can be a thoroughly additive emotion.

I understand this phenomena, because I breathe it. I crave it.

Writing was and is my dream job.

As a reclusive eleven year old, constructing numerous stories about teenagers engaged in ‘boy meet girl’ scenarios, I transported myself into a world where I made the rules (of course, boy and girl lived happily ever after.) But it wasn’t until after I completed a Degree and Masters that I decided to take writing much more seriously.  For years I’d write whilst holding down a full time job as a counsellor.  I enjoyed the interaction with clients and colleagues and occupying the privileged position of helping others- yet still felt the dull ache of remaining an unpublished writer.  As any author will tell you, writing for money is not the main motivator and working as a counsellor allowed me to indulge in my passion unpaid during evenings and weekends (even if this meant no time to actually get a life!).

Years passed before something amazing occurred.  An agent and publisher believed my work to be saleable.  Years of hard work and rejection had lead to a creation that would be read, enjoyed and scrutinized by others.  Of course, happiness and fear now intermingled, as a whole new life beckoned me from afar- one I had dreamt about for so very long.

So, six years flew by. My new identity- that of a published author, a writer- took a while for me to internalize. Whenever friends, family and acquaintances referred to me as a writer, I’d unconsciously turn my head to the side, just to see who they were referring to.

Who, me? A writer?

The glamorous book launches and spotting my book in stores are some of the main highlights of my life, so far.  My Day Job (which I still enjoyed) shrank down to four days a week and left ample time to increase my writing output.  Yet, the dream of one day giving it all up to write full time still lingered.  To experience the utopia of constructing and writing a novel uninterrupted by the nine to five and develop characters in a way, only writing every day could achieve.

Leave the job, said a voice.

The excuses were plentiful. Most alarming, the fact I had worked in a ‘proper job’ since the age of thirteen and couldn’t begin to imagine the prospect of life without a regular paycheque. Having long since subscribed to the mantra ‘live for the moment,’ I continued to do just that. Participating in a life I knew I was blessed to have, secure in the belief it just ‘wasn’t my time yet.’

You see, everything has its season and occurs, I believe, in God’s time and I remained confident that mine would arrive.

My moment, my time arrived at the beginning of 2014.

Before jumping on a plane to India for my birthday, there had been rumours circulating at work of voluntary redundancies. By the time I returned from India, these rumours were now fact.

Voluntary redundancy would be offered to some members of staff.

Would I qualify?  And if I did, could I take the leap of faith and just leave?

When it’s your time, everything begins to happen.

I applied.

I was accepted.

I was out within four weeks.

That last day at a job I had enjoyed for thirteen years was filled with joy, so much joy.  I had craved this moment for so long having fantasised and re written the scenario in my mind on numerous occasions.  Now it was a reality. The adrenaline would sometimes subside, temporarily replaced with that feeling of ‘Oh my gosh, what have I done?’  Fear battling to break into the fortress of certainty.  But mostly, it felt ‘right’ and I could not wait for the next part of this adventure called life, to begin.

The only question on my lips; ‘Where to, now?’

For me, there would only ever been a choice between two US cities.  One of these was New York, the home of many a writer at some point in their career; from Maya Angelou to James Baldwin to Langston Hughes. So clearly, this was an obvious fantasy fuelled, first choice.  However, being a Londoner for most of my life meant having tired of the hustle of a fast paced city life. Therefore, Atlanta offered the bright lights, a small town feel and a lower cost of living. Then there’s the weather.  I’d heard about the sunshine appearing well into autumn plus its close proximity to Florida couldn’t hurt! Besides, I had already fallen in love with Atlanta way back in 2005, during which my heart and mind had already fixated on the certainty; ‘I’m gonna live here one day!’ I hadn’t even signed my first publishing deal then, but such was my self belief (a must for anyone embarking on becoming an author) I believed it would only be a matter of time.

People often ask; ‘Why America?’

The vastness of the country for one. I have been blessed to have previously traveled to various parts of America and was always amazed at the beauty and differences making up each state.  Snow in Colorado, sunshine in Florida. It is not a country without serious and catastrophic faults. The effects of slavery, systematic racism and military occupation abroad has dimmed my glamorous childlike belief systems regarding America.  And I am under no such childlike illusions. But, as I allowed myself to exclude the equations of politics, just for one moment – I experienced two things; beauty and peace. Whenever I truly allowed my eyes to drink in my surroundings, whether this be the Blue Ridge mountains of Georgia or an ancient African tribal dance practiced in New Orleans in remembrance of former slaves, I experienced something quite beautiful. When I truly allowed myself the opportunity to immerse myself in what I had been lacking in my former life, I found myself in a learning experience unable to be gleaned from books or Wikipedia.

As a result, my creativity has soared.

Apart from a brief period when my writing mojo decided to take a hike, my output is now plentiful. Buoyed up by the sunshine, exotic birds and the urgency to write in a way I had always dreamed of – uninterrupted.

I have this plan, you see. I want to visit as much of the South as time and funds permit. With Atlanta as my base, I plan to merge with water, sunsets and sample a collection of fattening Southern cuisines. And who hasn’t imagined that all American road trip?  My mind is already in Charleston, South Carolina to visit the very spots slaves were bought and sold; Savannah, with its first African American church and the Underground Railroad; the beautiful mountains and greenery of Asheville North Carolina; Tennessee to visit an Elephant sanctuary and the spot of Dr Martin Luther King’s assassination, now a civil rights museum. So many places to see. So little time.

Now, is the time.

I have to keep reminding myself that this trip is as much about writing as it is seeing new places, so why not combine the two?  Perhaps I will jump on an Amtrak train (compete with bed and laptop) and wallow in the freedom to stare through windows, observe this beautiful world and exhale. That could work.  And why stop at America?  The Caribbean, a short hop away and crazily cheap to travel to in comparison to London prices could also provide oodles of inspiration.  I can almost hear the captivating sounds of Dunn’s River, a wonderful soundtrack to a new story.  Oh, if I sound at all dreamy, I don’t apologise – I am a writer after all!

For now, I remain satisfied with my choice to stay put in Atlanta. I am in love with that ‘southern hospitality’ you hear so much about. It’s real.  The mere act of a stranger singing ‘good morning’ as I casually walk on by, is enough to warm my heart for the rest of the day and indeed, strengthen my need to stay.  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to waking up some mornings cloaked in panic – but this is normal.  Fear will always have a way of trying to halt your dreams.  I acknowledge this, and move on (until the next bout).

I will not let fear win!

I can’t deny the gratefulness I feel when I wake up and the sun creeps through my window, running through every pore. A fresh scene involving my characters, percolating in my head ready to be tapped onto the keyboard and onto the screen. The joy is indescribable. Being a self confessed loner and extrovert works well for me. I write alone during the day and try to meet up with fellow writers and other ‘go it alone’ humans in the evenings.

Any regrets?  No. I am hopeful and prayerful that I am exactly where I am supposed to be and things can only get better. I once heard the saying; faith is like climbing an invisible staircase. It is, and I’m enjoying each and every step!

***

So fast forward to January 2017… to now… what’s happened?

I can honestly say I achieved my main goal and wrote about three novels in the process – one of which is Orphan Sisters and it’s out September 2017. More on that later…