Writer.Hello my name is DC Hall and I’m… a writer. Yeah I said it and it’s all I can do not to hang my head in shame from once hiding my passion.
When I was writing my novel I kept telling myself that… other people wouldn’t understand my passion. That I was alone in my literary quest. That I’ll tell the world I was indeed a writer…after I was finished with my work in progress. Then that point came when my novel’s plot was complete. Not edited. Not proofread. Not Beta reader tested. But the hours and hours and hours of writing and shaping my story was “done.” And then my excuses tasted like chalk on my tongue. I knew then my closet writing had to cease so…*POOF*
I was a DC Hall, the writer.
Mind you I fancy that from the age of 12 when I first wove a story in my 5-Star notebook, that I became a writer, but now I shared my secret with those closest to me. The reviews were mixed...
Is your book like that vampire one. Midnight, Sunlight… come on you know the one where they glitter in the sun and the guy with the hair.
Or my favorite is:
Oh, which one of the big 6 are you signed to?
* blank stare*This was the point where my tongue swells to the size of a sea slug and I would mumble some noncommittal grunt. (ßYep it’s as strange as it sound.)
But I wasn’t hiding anymore. I was a writer. So it didn’t matter what others thought right?
Then one day I joined a Facebook group and my life changed. It was amazing. Ladies. Gentlemen. People who knew my hardships, doubts and dreams so shallow that I couldn’t bear to speak them aloud. People who didn’t use a pen name for the sake of hiding from potential failure or shame but for privacy. People who weren’t afraid to be themselves. Writers.As time passed I learned and learned and I’m still learning and something strange happened. I grew. Just a little bit. The change was so minute that I barely recognized it. The change grew bigger slowly changing me until I realized as a writer I was safe. I was as safe as a ship in harbor and with the help of my peers that I learned that ships weren’t made to be tied to a dock. Ships were made to withstand squalls, hurricanes, and even icebergs. (Well icebergs not so much.) And I wanted to be a one of those. AWriter who was built like a ship. A Writer able to withstand uncooperative characters, writers block and the iceberg of literature – reject letters.
So I would like to re-introduce myself.
*Clears throat and stands on nearest chair*
My name is DC Hall. And I’m a Writer.