I am drawn to writing because my style of painting is about color and patterns, and not an Hieronymus Bosch paintings telling a story with many figures. I started to write bits and pieces of stories in a black and red notebook. It excited me. I can make characters live in a world where anything might happen. Writing became a creative outlet that was an escape. Then, NaNoWriMo found me. One November, I wrote a complete rough draft of a novel.
Wow, I liked my story even though working with words instead of color was difficult. The papers, written in school, came back covered in red. Writing more than three pages was a daunting task. Spelling confounded me; my brain saw words as pictures and not as letters. When I write, a slide show plays out in my head showing me a story. I translate it into the alien world of words.
I started to edit without knowledge of this process and researched how to submit it to publishers. If it was rejected, it would be part of the process. Sitting in art class and having your peers critique your art has to be more heart wrenching than a piece of paper saying, ‘This story is not for us at this time…” But, submitting work felt like writing a research paper and looking for a job all rolled into one. I hated updating resumes and writing cover letters, therefore a book proposal was tedious. I procrastinated. Excitement returned when self publishing became an acceptable form of publishing a book.