This may get rambley. It’s stream of consciousness…just some thoughts I’ve been mulling over.
I didn’t write a book to become an author.
Now that may sound strange to some of you reading this because the idea of a person who pens a body of work and an author are synonymous, but in my crazy lil brain? Two totally different people.
It’s part of the reason I have a pen name, really. Though the lines have been unexpectedly blurred via social media, but for the most part? Nicole Falls is not me. Well, like me me. She’s nice. Plays well in the sandbox. Gets along well with others. Not a rabblerouser. She’s all “golly gee, thank you for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed it!” green authorpersonlady.
But like…the real me? She’s not as…affable. She’s an artist who’s sensitive about her shit and feels a way when someone calls a work she put a lot into “completely silly”. She’s unable to separate a four star review and “the conflict was lame” happening at the same damn time. She holds herself in high esteem and is wounded when others don’t…just get it. She’s lil pistol starter; ready to react at a moment’s notice to over explain her motives. But like…it’s frowned upon to be an author who does this.
Authors live behind this shiny veneer of nicety and even keeled reactions. Authors don’t spaz on people. Well…not any author who actually would like to continue to have readers. Authors hold their tongues and carefully craft words to express their feelings that toe the line of complete honesty with a gigantic scoop of tact.
And if I say this and it sounds as if I’m deriding authors for being mature beings who can handle some of the silly shit that’s thrown their way; it is not my intent. I’m just…not that girl. So it’s a helluva learning curve. While I may react to certain things in a brash way, Nicole Falls has to be a bit more…careful, considerate, & cautious.
But back to the title of this thing and what I meant. I wrote a book because it had been eating me up inside to have not done so yet. I’ve read so much and saw elements of my writing in the writing of others that made me think you know what? You can complete a book. Even if you decide that only you and Jesus were gonna read it in its entirety…you can do it.
Writing a book was a personal challenge. It was a way of shaking up what had become a stagnant life in desperate need of vigor. So no, I didn’t write this book to become the type of person I described above. I didn’t even release it to be come this person.
I wrote it for me. To show myself I could do this. And I could do it well. And I’ve mostly proven that.
So I guess it did its job.