In April I started writing a novel… which sounds really crazy to say out loud (or more technically speaking, to type – here) because it IMMEDIATELY triggers my imposter syndrome.
A NOVEL? HA! WHO AM I TO THINK I CAN WRITE A NOVEL?
WHO AM I TO… fill in the blank.
The point is, I am an amateur fiction writer, because this is the first time I’m writing fiction.
Does that somehow make it less than real? NO. It’s quite literally real and it’s very much happening.
Each week (for the last eleven weeks) I have released a chapter on my Substack of said novel, which may or may not be “inspired by true events” and based slightly on a timeline of my actual life, in the very fun way that you, the reader, might not know which parts actually took place, and which parts are a figment of my imagination 😉 WHICH, in my opinion, makes for a far more interesting story (and one has to wonder if ALL fiction writers are writing some version of true events?) As Nora Ephron would say, “Everything is copy” which, as Google speculates serves as a reminder to writers to draw from their own lives and observations, finding inspiration in the everyday and transforming personal experiences into compelling stories for others.
Some of my favorite books had me questioning just how much of the fiction was a lived experience. In fact, all of my favorite books have had me asking this question 🤔 which has me wondering if I should even include that little tidbit at all? BUT because I’m an amateur, I’m not sure. However, as many of you might know some of the actual events that have taken place in my life over the past nearly 20 years I’ve been writing here, I thought it might need a disclaimer so that you wouldn’t think it was a biography, but alas, I wouldn’t know, since I am an amateur. What I do know, however, is that it’s fiction.
The imposter syndrome rushes in at least once a week while I’m writing and editing the next chapter just to beg the question: IF I’m an amateur, how can it be any good? And that, I suppose, is to be determined – but I think so far, it’s engaging and fun and some would say they are invested in it, so I have to assume by those metrics, that I’m doing something right, even as an amateur.
I mean, JK Rowling’s first book turned out okay, and many other first time writer’s works turned out to be their best work ever! AND the only way to go from an amateur (or beginner) to expert, is to actually put in the work, produce the results and well, write… you have to start somewhere, right? RIGHT 😊
Anyway, a few days ago I realized (accidentally) that I was ranked #26 on the “rising in fiction” section, and for the first time I felt like it was real!
However, by the next day (after missing a week of publishing due to life, lifing and the very first time I actually missed a week,) I had dropped down to #81 and then by the following day, I had fallen off the list entirely.
This is all to say that, as validating as it might have been momentarily, the loss of it felt far greater than having never had it at all. But sometimes, we need a little validation to boost our motivation to keep going. It’s hard to constantly push yourself as an artist, in any way, when the ROI is so low in the beginning.
And so, I have learned that in the future, I shall not base any merit on this (or any) list (even if it’s a best seller list), 😆 but it did make me feel seen and heard and validated in a way that nothing else has quite yet in this arena.
In the past few years, I have left behind what has felt like –entire lifetimes. I’ve walked away from my business, from multiple relationships, several houses, and even changed locations entirely in order to once and for all – leave the past where it belongs, behind me… and it has been a bumpy ride. In fact, it’s still quite tumultuous at times. Just when I expect the chaos to settle, something pops up and creates even more friction as if to remind me time and time again to go with the flow and enjoy the journey without focusing so much on the destination.
This is to say that I’m not quite off the ride yet, (are we ever?) but it has finally gotten a little bit smoother, and a lot more aligned with who I am and who I want to be – now and moving forward.
Looking back, I feel like I had a ten year derailment, a decade where I went completely off track, tried so many new things, went on countless new adventures, and realized that not only were they just ‘not for me’ but that by choosing things that specifically weren’t aligned with “me”, it resulted in what felt like massive pain and utter failure, and years spent digging myself out of it and still healing from it all.
It’s clear to me now, that as painful as it has been, it was a journey I was meant go on, if for no other purpose than to prove to myself who exactly I am and most definitely, who exactly I am not and how many standards I lowered and boundaries I dropped in order to fit into a place that I clearly was not meant for, a place I never belonged, a place where potential and hope had me risking my own sanity, and taught me what I will and more obviously, what I WON’T ever do again.
What’s funny, or maybe not so funny, is that I actually started writing a version of this novel 10 years ago – before the derailment.
It was before my divorce, and partially what possibly led to my divorce in some way, which I didn’t – I couldn’t see until now.
But once I was left all alone in my fear of aloneness and isolation way back in 2016, I dropped all parts of myself for a different kind of comfort and experience that I didn’t know would nearly kill me, mentally, spiritually, financially and mostly, emotionally, but that became the actual research I was seeking and the lived experienced I must have needed to enable me to begin writing this very novel, all over again – seeing it through completely different eyes and seeing it through – to the end.
Read Everything She Never Had // Chapter One
* Below is the first half of chapter one – if you’d like to continue reading, and I’d be so happy if you did, click here – you don’t have to be a subscriber to read it, even though Substack constantly prompts you, you can skip that part if you don’t want to sign up AND STILL READ IT.
I’m lying on my back staring at the ceiling, which is probably white, but looks kind of yellow. Maybe the walls are yellow, and the ceiling is white, but overall, the feeling is yellow. Like a dull, drab, old dirty butter yellow.
I hear a humming somewhere in the distance.
There’s a small window near the yellow or white ceiling on the wall above my head where this bed is pushed up against, and I keep thinking, I wish it was open to let in some fresh air.
The bed is small, and the mattress is thin and hard and possibly covered in vinyl. I have one small, child-sized pillow and a yellow blanket that feels like it’s been washed a million times and starched so heavily that it barely falls over the curves of my body. It’s as stiff as I feel laying here in my vintage black slip dress, makeup and hair from the night before. Wait, is it still the night before?
It’s a bit cold and kind of clammy and my mind is vacillating between the urge to panic bluntly halted by an unconsciously sly smirk that keeps curving up on the right side of my mouth.
Loser! Badass! Loser! Badass! repeating in my head like my conscious self is battling my ego; one screaming, You are a loser! and the other screaming You are a badass!
I hear the metal on a clunky door handle creak and then slam open. A large set of keys on a big ring that slides over one’s wrist clanks loudly as footsteps approach and then pass.
Stephanie, put your pants on! a voice yells in the distance. My eyes widen and I lift my head to hear a little better. Stephanie! Where are your pants? Put your pants on!
Silence.
I listen intently to hear what’s next, but nothing…
Apparently the stank smell that had wafted in my direction about fifteen minutes earlier, forcing me to gag slightly, caused whomever Stephanie was to be pants-less.
Can I have another blanket? a soft female voice, whom I assume is Stephanie, asks.
NO, you’re only allowed ONE blanket…!!! Buuuuuut let me see what I can do.
A few minutes pass. Then, footsteps and a shadowy figure pass and a now quiet voice offers a blanket… since you have no pants, I hear.
I lay my head back down on my baby pillow and try to relax. It’s still dark, but I have no idea what time it is. I’m not actually tired at all, I’m wired but hope that a little sleep will help the time pass more quickly.
I close my eyes and start chanting Om shreem maha lakshmiyei swaha, in my head: Om shreem maha lakshmiyei swaha, Om shreem maha lakshmiyei swaha, Om shreem. . .
I trail off into thought and pat myself on the back, metaphorically, for having such a dedicated meditation practice.
Om shreem maha lakshmiyei swaha.
I’d be in a full panic-stricken anxiety attack if I didn’t have this practice to help me right now.
-Okay… back to it….
Breathe. Relax…. Om shreem ma…
-How did I even get here?
SHHHHH….. OMMMMM SHREEM
-Like, what the actual fuck?
SHHHHHHH….. OMMMMMMMMMM
-Great, now I have to go to the bathroom.
OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
-I can hold it.
OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
-Nope, gotta go.
I throw the stiff yellow blanket off of me, my bare feet hit the cold concrete floor, riddled with hard pieces of what look like cobalt blue nail polish picked off from the previous tenant.
I peer out the door and into the hallway. Empty. The coast was clear, for the moment anyway, and it seemed quiet enough.
I pull up my dress and pull down my lace thong and carefully squat over the metal toilet as to not touch it with any part of my body. Luckily, it’s a quick and quiet process as I wipe and flush and wash my hands in the tiny sink that sits above the toilet tank. I grab a handful of single ply toilet paper to dry my hands and promptly lay back down in bed, pulling the rough blanket back over my body.
I close my eyes again and try to meditate, try to sleep, try to escape the reality I now find myself in.
Moments later, the lights slam on, and I hear the door and the keys and the footsteps again.
I sit up and ready myself, thinking it’s my turn, but instead someone pushes two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread wrapped in plastic on a styrofoam tray along with a red apple and a small carton of milk, under my door.
Milk? I thought… ew.
I wasn’t expecting food, nor was I hungry, but I picked up my meal and set it on the little table that was welded to the wall in front of the toilet, as I heard the keys in the distance and the door shut behind them.
The lights stayed on this time. It must be breakfast, I thought, morning, trying to guess what time it was.
I laid back down under the blanket, this time pulling it over my head partially to cover my eyes from the bright light that now flickered above me and also to hide the hot tears streaming down my cheeks. Loser!
As quickly as the tears came, they stopped as my ego kicked in again. Badass!
There was that smirk again! Why are you smiling, loser?
I closed my eyes and started chanting in my head again and I think I may have fallen asleep for a short while until yet again, I heard the door slam open, the keys and the footsteps…
Click here: Everything She Never Had to continue reading Chapter One
Click here: Everything She Never Had to read all chapters.
And let me know what you think 😊 Come back every Thursday to read a new chapter!
NOTE: Chapter one is always available for non-paying subscribers. Each Thursday when I release a new chapter, it’s free for two weeks before it locks for paying subscribers only, which means the most recent 2 chapters are available for free if you read them in that time frame.
Happy Monday, Lovecats! Hope you had a nice 4th Weekend!
* Find all my Book posts here
* Find my Book Recommendations here
* Find me on Substack, here
* Check out my other new project I haven’t shared here yet 😉 and click here to see how the idea came to fruition.
PS: I have successfully removed ads from within posts, if you still see them (sorry) but you may be reading an old cached version. Thanks for your patience! xo …love, Maegan
