It took two years for me to tell people I was writing a book.

I told my husband when I reached the 25 000 word count. It was spring, 2013 and I had already been writing the book for almost nine months. His reaction was, “OMG, this is going to be a trilogy! I can’t wait to see the movie!” He thinks I walk on water.

But I stopped writing.

Then, in February of 2014, I went to Vietnam on a three week trip by myself and started telling people I met there that I was writing a book. It felt safe to tell my new friends who wouldn’t mingle with my family and other friends and whisper things like, “Raquel said she’s writing a book, but she’s actually full of shit”.

A while later, I told my best friend of over thirty years and she said, “I know you’re writing.” (She’s a bit psychic). “It’s about time”. She didn’t make a big deal of it nor did she ask me about it again which was good because I didn’t want a big deal made nor did I want to be asked about it again (I’m sure she knew that too, being psychic and all).

It took another four months to tell my sister. I only told her because every time she and her boyfriend would come over to hang by my pool she would ask, “What are you writing in that notebook?” Previously, I would secretly write in dark corners where no one would see me. But sometimes my sister would arrive at my house before I could stash it away, catching me in the act. This was summer 2014.

And then I just started to tell everyone. By the time I committed out loud to the world that I was writing a book, I was at 40 000 words. I told people because I wanted (needed) accountability. I needed to be asked, “how’s the writing going?” making it impossible for me to quit because I’m known for finishing what I start (or maybe I only tell people about things I know I’m going to finish… hmm). I needed a kick in the ass and some motivation. But the complete opposite happened. I told people, and then I stopped writing, AGAIN. Writer’s block was the self-diagnoses. I just couldn’t seem to get back to writing.

After much self-reflection and at least six more months of procrastination, I realized I was suffering from a fear of failure, not writer’s block. Everyone knew I was writing a book and now they were all asking me about it. I freaked out. I started thinking people were going to read it and realize I was crazy. Or worse, it wouldn’t even get published, or it would get published and it would bomb. Why did I tell these people I was writing a book? It might fail and the whole world will watch me fall flat on my face! Stupid stupid stupid!

To make matters worse, my friends and family used words like ‘brave’ and ‘go-getter’ when referring to me as a writer making me feel like a fraud. I was a complete chicken-shit! I wanted to stop talking about the book and hope that it would quietly go away. The problem with that plan, however, was that my son, Liam, already knew I was writing the damn book. Although rare, he would occasionally ask what my book was about. Those few inquiries made by my son were enough to snap me out of my chicken-shit state.

Sometime in 2015, I decided once and for all to run like hell towards my dream screaming like a mad woman as if my very own life depended on it. It suddenly became an emergency to write the book and I lived and breathed every day to finish it. I didn’t do it for me, the fraud, the chicken-shit. My children were my best motivators although they didn’t know it. They made my refusal to quit based on fear an easy decision. I decided to write because I was afraid. I wanted to fail big time in front of everyone or succeed in front of everyone. Sometimes dreams don’t work out and that’s ok. Life goes on. But sometimes dreams do work out, so why not mine? I saw the brewing life lesson as a win-win situation.

So the fearless chicken-shit wrote 45 000 words in a few short months to complete the first draft by August 24th, 2015. My son, Gregory, was the first to read the story from start to finish. I was on pins and needles waiting for his response. I’ll never forget his words. “I finished the book. It was an amazing read.” I nearly cried with joy.

Are you a new writer? Or is there a dream you’re afraid to chase? Leave a comment. I would love to know I’m not alone. Please, comment, for serious. Don’t leave me hanging…

I won’t bore you with my editing process, instead, this 15-second video sums it up nicely and will bring you up to speed to where I am today; submitting my books to agents for representation.