I’m coming up on the four-year anniversary of being a published indie author. In honor of that, I’m doing a four-part series about my writing journey.
This writing anniversary always gets me reflecting on my journey. It’s not that I started writing four years ago, I’ve been doing that since I was a teenager, although I took it more seriously in the 90s. I wrote a couple of children’s books and many children’s short stories. “Mega Veggies” was published in a children’s magazine and I was sending out my work to publishers with “nice” handwritten rejections. Also during this time frame, I made the decision to further educate myself. So I took several writing classes and later found myself back in college, where I focused on English, Photography, and Yoga. It was in a college English Class I found my love poetry and I began to work on more “adult” short stories, but then after I graduated all of my work just sat. I’d stopped sending my books to publishers and hadn’t submitted an article, short story, or poem to a magazine in a while. I had a family to raise, relatives to take care of, and health issues. Writing wasn’t a priority.
Then an incident happened in 2015 that ended up being a great story. Four years ago on a cold winter’s night in February, on Friday the 13th, I had just finished reading and was about to go to sleep. I had to use the restroom, so I threw the covers back and raced across the 20 feet to my destination. I didn’t make it. On our large throw rug was a picture of a black bear and our black cat Coco on top of that. In my rush, I didn’t see him, and my foot caught underneath him. I tried to grab the dresser next to me to balance, but instead, I kept falling. I remember my cat watching this with interest, but not moving either. I twisted to avoid landing on him and heard a loud crack. I was face first on the cold floor with Coco still on top of the bear. It wasn’t that he was stubborn either, he completely trusted I wouldn’t hurt him, and I didn’t. My other cats I have accidentally stepped on, and they move when I walk near them. That came later with him. Now he gets out of my way, most of the time.
I laid there for a moment wondering what to do. I tried to pull myself up with no luck. The pain was too intense when I tried to use my foot. My husband had slept through this entire event.
When I finally called out to him, he sat up and asked, “Why are you laying on the floor? You should get up.” Then his head was back on the pillow again.
It took a bit of urging to wake him up, but he finally got me into the bed where I decided to wait the night out and see how I was in the morning.
After a long night of trying to get comfortable, morning came. I knew I needed to see a doctor. It was the weekend so ER was our only option. After a long process of getting dressed, my husband and I made it to the car and the hospital. The hospital staff seemed to enjoy my Friday the 13th story, and my husband said he was glad to be with me on Valentine’s day no matter where we were. (you can see why we’ve been married for 35 years) I was diagnosed with a high break on my left foot. It was wrapped up, I had crutch lessons, and we headed home.
Being laid up with a broken bone over being sick was a new experience for me. I had a lot of time of my hands. I did some projects I had wanted to do like go through all my grandparents’ old slides. I watched hours of TV, including started watching Supernatural. Catching up the seasons filled the hours, but still, I couldn’t do that all day. So one day my daughter was visiting and suggested I publish my work myself on Amazon. I thought…maybe.
Next week continues with Part 2
Watch for a special edition blog this week:)
Embrace your inner child by reading a book! D.L. Finn