I wrote my first book because I wanted to read it.
Back in 2006, my first daughter was born 7 weeks early and the whole premature baby experience was new and scary.
To help me deal with being a NICU parent I wanted to read a book about what to expect. Not a non-fiction book with medical jargon and advice from doctors…but a novel. A story I could lose myself in while relating to it and learning what was in store for me.
I couldn’t find one. And so – being a writer – I decided to write one. It took me more than 10 years to finish it but last year I did.
And in the 10 months since I wrote the last line I have been preparing to submit it to agents in the hope of getting a publishing contract.
Today I hit send on my very first email to an agent.
And. It. Felt. AMAZING!
I have no idea what will happen with my novel. I know I’m a better writer today than I was in 2006 when I started it. I’ve learned a lot from the experience of writing it and even more from editing it.
But no matter what happens now I can say that not only did I finish writing a novel but there is an agent in New York that liked my pitch enough to want to read more.
That’s pretty darn cool…