How did you get into writing?
Since a couple of podcast hosts have invited me onto their podcasts before the release of my novel, I’ve been anticipating the questions they might ask.
How long have you been writing? What snacks do you eat when you’re writing? What in the world ever possessed you to think you could write a novel and then have the audacity to get it published? Oh, and while we’re at it, which Mr. Darcy do you prefer—and it had better be the right one.
Okay, some of these questions I haven’t anticipated. They’ve just appeared in my podcast interviewing nightmares. Which is why I’ve been practicing interview questions inside my head in an attempt to be prepared for anything.
So, Becca, how did you get into writing?
Great question, Becca. How did I get into writing? Well, let’s see. Huh. Such a great question. Did I mention that’s a great question? Because that is. A great question. One I’m sure I know the answer to. If I can just think of the answer. Why can’t I think of the answer? Oh my goodness, how about that Mr. Darcy, right?
Wow. You really stink at this.
Why do you think I’m practicing inside my head right now?
All right. Calm down. Let’s try again. (Clears throat.) Hi Becca, thanks for being here. Let’s start off with an easy, and I do mean easy, question. How did you get into writing? And please, my lovely fragile guest, keep in mind it’s not a trick question.
I guess you could say . . . I’ve always loved it?
That’s a start. Keep talking.
Growing up, I always loved keeping a journal. I always loved jotting down silly ideas or poems in notebooks. I always loved paper. I always loved pens. I always loved the office aisle in Walmart.
Okay, we get the idea. Let’s move on to the next question. If you’ve always loved writing so much, then why, dear sweet Becca, didn’t you go into a career that involves writing?
Good question. Truth is I did consider a career that involves writing. From upper grade school throughout early high school, when people asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I told them I wanted to be a journalist for either a newspaper or a magazine. But then one day I had an epiphany.
I love epiphanies.
I realized I didn’t like newspapers or magazines.
That’s an epiphany, all right.
I realized that if I made writing my career, something I had to do for a paycheck, I might end up losing my love for it—especially if I was writing for something I didn’t even like to read.
I see. So then—
I’m not done yet. I realized if I chose a different career path, I’d always have writing as a creative outlet to enjoy.
Yes. I find—
Still not done. So I ended up pursuing another interest. Nursing. All along though, part of me always associated with being a writer. Which is why years before I wrote my first novel, I was devouring Stephen King’s book On Writing, soaking in tips and advice I wouldn’t use until over a decade later. Why movies like Finding Neverland spoke to my soul. “All great writers begin with a good leather binding and a respectable title.” I remember hearing that line from the movie and reaching for my journal, thinking I had the good leather binding at least. Fifteen years later I discovered the title. And somewhere along the way I discovered pursuing your dreams doesn’t always require taking the obvious route.
Inspiring indeed. Well, Becca, as much as I’d love to continue this conversation, I’m afraid we’re out of time.
Already? You barely asked me anything.
And yet, we’re still out of time. Anything else you’d like to say before we go?
How about a quote I came across in Allen Arnold’s book Waves of Creativity that sums up everything I was attempting to say, only better?
This is your pretend interview. Do whatever you want. Except answer more questions. We’re seriously done for now.
“The discovery process is finding out what makes you come alive. It is knowing what you love to do—which isn’t always the same as what you’re paid to do or even as what comes naturally.”
You’re right, Becca. He said that so much better than everything you just rambled about. But hey, thanks for being here. We’ll have to do this again. Not necessarily because I want to, but because you certainly need the practice.
