How to be an author
The question of what I was going to do next career-wise had been dogging me for months. The years after my mother’s death
had been ones of transition. My husband and I had moved from the urban mainland
to a remote island. On the island, I opened a craft supply store only to close
it two years later. My experiences in the store had led me to a new career—knitwear
design. I sold hand knitting patterns through my website to knitters from around the world. I also sold my knitting through a gallery. And I even deigned for wool producers. But knitting 24/7, seven days a week had resulted in severe wrist pain. My doctor sent me to a specialist and, after testing, the specialist advised me to take a year-long break. And there went that career. Leaving me directionless.
I climbed out of the truck and followed my husband past the rows of vehicles, up the stairs and to the passenger deck. We claimed one of the last available benches.
I climbed out of the truck and followed my husband past the rows of vehicles, up the stairs and to the passenger deck. We claimed one of the last available benches.
Thinking that writing about my dilemma would help, I pulled a pen and my journal out of my purse. I wrote about the weather, the ferry and
what we where going to do on the mainland. Then I wrote: maybe I could be a writer. I quickly added a
series of buts—but I have dyslexia; but I don’t know how: but I don’t know any
authors.
Me becoming an author sounded so silly in my head, but maybe if...
“I want to be a writer,” I told
my husband.
“What do you mean you want to
be,” he said. “I find your writing all over the house. You are a writer. You do
write.”
“No, I mean for a living. Be an
author. But I have no idea how to do that. And me? An author? It’s too… It’s
too si—“
The woman who was sitting on the
bench in front of ours, turned around. “Pardon me.” She spoke with a slight English accent. “I don’t mean to
eavesdrop. But I heard you say you wanted to be an author.”
I blushed but nodded.
“I’m an author.” She gave me her
name and told me about her books. “And there’s only one way to be an author.”
I was hanging on her every word.
I wanted so badly to know the secret. “How?”
She fixed me in a soft, friendly gaze. Smiled. And
said. “It’s not as hard as you think, you know. To be an author, you need to
write. So write.”Angels will visit you too. All you have to do is be open to them. They'll find you. In fact, you may even get to be an angel in someone else's life.
Updated: June 26, 2020 (11:41 am)
