I Didn’t Know How to Write a Book, and the flight that changed everything.
It was January. My horoscope said, “Anything you start this month will be successful.”
What it didn’t say was: “BUT, It’ll take seventeen years, and you’ll almost quit aBOUT A dozen times.”
In my defense, I’ve never really thought of myself as a writer. I’m dyslexic (and can’t spell for sh*t). I remember in third grade, we were divided into reading groups: A, B, and C. I was in C. That meant I couldn’t read as well as everyone else, and I knew it. I was embarrassed.
At some point, I was put into a special group that got Hooked on Phonics, which might have worked for some people, but honestly, it just taught me to chop up words and sound them out, which didn’t help with spelling or retention. I didn’t realize until after college that I was seeing words backwards. That revelation explained everything.
Back in the ’70s, nobody was diagnosing dyslexia. You were just “slow” or “not trying hard enough.” I’ve always been a visual learner, and I must write things down to make them stick. In college, I wanted to join a sorority, Delta Zeta, but my GPA was a hot mess (we’re talking 1.7). I needed a 3.5 that semester to qualify. So, I buckled down and went to the study room every single day; I essentially rewrote two textbooks by hand. In the end I did it and got a 3.8 that semester. Of course, once I got into the sorority, I went back to coasting along again (but I had a great time doing it).
False Starts and Plot Spirals
After I started working for the airline, I had this idea for a movie and with some small inheritance money I bought a laptop and started writing, but then I met a boy and the idea disappeared into the background.
Fast-forward: a husband, a new home in South Florida, and an intriguing story that popped into my head. I started writing again, but I was all over the place. Characters were taking over, scenes came out of order, and nothing was connecting; I didn’t have a beginning, a middle, or an end. Turns out, writing a book is…hard.
I’ve always struggled with grammar and spelling, and it was smacking me in the face, but then, like a beacon in the night, I discovered the magic of spellcheck (thank God for it). Eventually, I googled how to write a book and found an online class. The teacher broke everything down into a system I could follow scene and sequel, outlining, structure, etc. It started to made sense until it didn’t; I hit a wall. No more ideas, no more words, just total writer’s block for five years.
New City, New Focus
When we moved to Seattle I set three goals:
Make new friends.
Get involved in my new community.
Finish the f-ing book.
So, I joined the Junior League of Seattle, and I joined a writing meetup that met every Monday night at this dive bar called The College Inn; that’s where things really clicked. Reading my work out loud, listening to other writers, getting feedback, receiving encouragement, and sharing laughter. Finally, the perfect recipe that helped me find a rhythm. Now energized, I a hired an online coach to keep me focused. It all helped immensely.
Finally, I was ready to publish, but I wasn’t sure I could. I felt that if I had a publisher or an agent, I’d know for sure that my book was good enough, but without one, I felt like I was just taking a wild swing. What if it wasn’t good enough? What if I got it all wrong?
The Day at Work That Changed Everything
I was flying from JFK to LAX, talking with a fellow flight attendant in the galley, when a woman came up to use the lavatory holding a massive book. The three of us started chatting. My coworker knew I had written a novel, and, at some point, the woman looked at me and asked, “Don’t you read?” The other flight attendant chimed in: “She (referring to me) actually wrote a book.” The woman’s face lit up. “I’d love to read it,” she said. Then she added: “I’m a producer, my husband and I produced a recent major motion picture.”
She had just returned from the BAFTAs where they’d swept the awards and was headed to the Oscars, where they were nominated for multiple awards (which they won, too). She gave me her email, “send me your book,” she said. “I have interns who do nothing but read scripts and stories.” Not surprisingly, I sent it to her before she even stepped out of the lavatory.
A few weeks later, I got a message back. An intern rated both my story and writing as excellent and said it would make a great mid-budget movie. I was stunned. Later, I followed up and told her I wasn’t sure what to do next. She told me to send it again as another intern would take a second look. That round? The story still got an excellent, but the writing only got an okay. She reluctantly passed at that moment, but before signing off, she wrote something that stuck: “You should self-publish. This story deserves to be out in the world.”
LADIES & GENTLEMEN, WE’RE NUMBER ONE IN LINE. FLIGHT ATTENDANTS, PLEASE PREPARE FOR TAKEOFF.
So that’s what I’m doing, not because I didn’t have any other choice, but because I’ve come too far to let this story sit on my hard drive. I’m going for it because I’ve worked my ass off, and because this story kept pulling me back in, for all these years.
I’m doing this because the Oscar-winning woman holding a book in 2A, who invested the time and money to have two of her interns read my book and provide notes, told me I should.
She’s getting the very first hard copy.
