I began my writing career, such as it is, in 2017. My brother, Jann Rowland, was doing well as an author, so why couldn’t I? How hard could it be? I had always been an avid reader, so why not treat the world to my unique humor and sarcastic wit?

I won’t describe the rude awakening I had upon publishing my first literary masterpiece, but the reviews were unflattering, to put it mildly. Almost every part of my storytelling was picked apart, from descriptions to dialogue, to plotting, and everything in between.

Instead of wallowing in self-pity, which I was sorely tempted to do, I absorbed the various opinions and went back over my story, looking for the sins I was accused of committing. The exploration, while painful, was revealing. In my hubris,  it seemed I had violated almost every rule there was, and probably a few that had yet to be invented. My point-of-view jumped all over the place or head-hopped, usually within single paragraphs, and my dialogue was stilted and, frankly, pathetic.

The first inclination was to crawl off somewhere and lick the wounds to my damaged ego, but I am nothing if not stubborn, so I took steps to improve. According to my editor and beta readers, my efforts have been successful.  They clam the quality of my writing improves with each subsequent offering.

Unlike Jann, I am not a prolific writer. I struggle with every chapter, and often every single word I commit to my manuscript. My goal is a chapter a day, or approximately four thousand words, but many days I am lucky to get half of that. The first half of a chapter is, for me, the hardest part because I have to set the tone and maneuver my characters into position for the payoff at the chapter’s end. It seems that once I hit the halfway mark, the rest flows, but getting to that point is usually difficult.

So why do I keep doing this, if it is such a trying process? Sometimes I wonder and doubt my ability, but then the ideas start to come and I want to get them down on the proverbial paper, so to speak. I have stories to tell and self-publishing is a great medium in which to offer your vision to the public. Is it all fun and games? Not by a long shot, and there is a point in every composition where I question my sanity, if not the innate stubbornness that motivates me.

That disappears, though, when I get that email from Amazon informing me that my latest is online. For a day or two, sometimes even a week, I am at peace with myself and eager to get to work on my next story, the one that will earn me the coveted Booker Prize. Of course reality sets in and I come back to earth, but with a renewed enthusiasm for this art form, which takes me into the next story and sometimes even lasts for a chapter or three.

So what is the glimmer of gold in this tortured exposition? There are a few, actually:

1. My command of the English language has grown. I thought I had a basic understanding before, but there is so much more to learn.
2. The ability to take an idea, no matter how small and tenuous, and create a full story, is extremely satisfying.
3. I now identify poor sentence construction and find myself mentally rewording many sentences in whatever I am reading, be it fact or fiction. (I’m not sure if this is a blessing or a curse,🤷‍♂️)
4. The community of authors I have come to know and love in my writing is wonderful. With few exceptions, fellow authors are never shy about offering assistance or opinions. I welcome their input and thank them for it.
5. My fans are the best. There might not be many right now, but my fanbase is growing. You have my undying appreciation for the encouragement you offer and, just as important, your honest criticism that is so valuable.

As much as I dread sitting down and writing on some days, it is a wonderful and growing experience I wouldn’t change for the world.