By Natasha Hayden
January 24, 2014

I’ve been blackmailed and coerced–I mean, encouraged and motivated–to write a short story for Children of the Wells. It isn’t for one of the main plotlines, but it does connect in a small way to The Doctor’s Assistant and to another short story for CotW. Both these stories, among others, will be revealed later this year. Keep an eye out. 

I can’t give you details on my story at this time, but I do want to muse a bit on getting back into writing. I consider myself a writer, though I do editing work for CotW. I went through four years at a university to become a professional writer, but I discovered there that my main passion is fiction writing. Over the past few years, I’ve been deeply involved in life as a mother, and without much pain, I have temporarily pushed writing to the side. I do have my blog, natashasshelf.blogspot.com, where I review books, mainly new young adult fiction, and movies, usually those recently out in the theater or on DVD. But it’s been a long time since I wrote fiction, and the last piece of fiction I wrote was a bit of a spoof on my life as a mother and spy. (Oops, I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that last part. Shh!)

Anyway, all that comes down to the fact that I feel rusty. I know how to write. Editing and writing reviews and reading has kept me sharp in that. But I’ve lost some of the incentive to write because the stuff I read is already so interesting. As a kid, I used to write because I was bored with my limited reading material (I grew up overseas) and thought I could come up with better stories. Now, I’m quite satisfied with the books I read. My sister-in-law owns a bookstore, so I never run out of options. And young adult fiction is really good these days. The professionals tell you to read profusely in the genre you want to write in, but for me, that advice has sort of backfired.

Alessandro Pautasso via Compfight

So, when I finally volunteered to add my two cents to the canon of CotW, it was with a bit of fear, yes, but also not without a surge of nervous excitement–you know, the kind you get when you are creeping up toward the crest of a roller coaster (not me; I hate roller coasters), or when you are standing in the queue waiting to begin a 10K race, or when the plane accelerates off the runway. It’s that feeling of knowing you will probably make it safely to the other end but not being quite 100 percent sure. I imagine it’s what a baby feels taking that first step. They say a step is just a controlled fall.

I let a few crazy ideas percolate in my head for a couple days, and then I sat down and wrote 2000 words, like that. My husband can vouch for it, I’m an all-or-nothing kind of person. I have always written this way, in marathons and deserts. When I’m inspired, I can write for hours, and I will simply not respond to anyone who tries to talk to me. (Do you see why I haven’t attempted much writing since my kids came along?) I’m in the zone. And then I reluctantly close shop, knowing that when I come back to it, it will be like dragging myself out of REM sleep prematurely. I will be sluggish, disoriented. It would be so much easier to leave well enough alone and go back to the warm comfort of not writing at all.

And that’s what happened, to an extent. I wrote until it was time to quit for the day. And then I was stuck. I didn’t know where precisely to go from there. Again, the professionals say the only way to get over that hump is to just sit down and have a go at it, and this time, I completely agree with their advice. I left it for a week, and then I sat down and pounded out some more. And now, I can see the finish line, and I’m 100 percent sure I’ll cross it, one controlled fall at a time.

I’m super excited to share this story with you. I’ve been dying to read parts of it aloud to my husband, just to brag and say, “Isn’t that brilliant?” I don’t, because that’s one of my rules: don’t talk about it or you’ll lose the motivation to write more. Once the idea is shared, it sort of leaves my system, whether I’ve actually written it or not. My reward at the end of it all will be to have my husband read it and then to share it with you. That’s what keeps me going.

Now, maybe it’s not as great as I’ve elevated it in my mind. I’m fully aware that the tinted glasses are on, as a part of myself that’s been dry comes to life once again. But whether or not it flies or fails, the point is, I wrote. And I am all at once proud of that fact and humbly grateful to the One who gave me the ability.