The Painful Art of Becoming an Author...

My trek from poverty to success has not been paved with gold debris and rose petals. I’d compare it to being paved as a highly intense, messy, muddy and confusing obstacle course…oftentimes not necessarily riddled with physical cobblestone challenges, but rather criticism, devastation, lack of motivation, and the overwhelming doubt and worry whether anyone is actually listening. Like any artist trying to make a mark in this world with their own perception and overall outlook on life, I wish to make my mark with my words and my blue fountain pen.

Many aspiring authors and writers have gone through a similar blend of emotions and doubt. Who am I without my stories? Who am I without an audience? Do I even have an audience to speak of?

This constant reel of thoughts has recently spiraled due to my upcoming birthday. I’m turning 30 years old…and I’m not as scared as I thought I would be a mere decade ago…but there has been an exciting and riveting project that has consumed the last five years of my life.

I’ve kept it sacred and secret for a long time in large part because when the opportunity to even entertain the idea of a project like this existing presented itself, it was in the beginning stages of being written. Right now, as this relates largely to my new year’s eve resolution goals, I’m ready to share that I have been offered an opportunity to publish my own book.

This opportunity would not have been possible if not for a very special visitor, Kristen E DeAndrade, who is the author of her own novel "Little Legs, Big Heart: One Girl's Journey of Acceptance, Perseverance and Growth". She came and visited me at St Mary's Hospital in West Palm Beach after I had been recovering from my posterior capsulatomy surgery 4 years ago. I was in tears, in pain, in doubt and full of anxiety as to when and how am I going to get back home to Chicago. Kristen was informed that I had been an aspiring author. She gifted me her book with a heartfelt message calling me a brave heart and encouraging me to get my own story out.

I reached out to the publication relating the kind of story I'd like to piece together, presenting them with what is now a prelude chapter of my novel, and three days later had a phone call on how to put the project in motion. To say that it scared me is an understatement. Becoming a writer was exciting and gave me a fulfilling feeling of having "made it" but becoming an author...whose books are available for purchase in bookstores and advertised online and for a larger audience to see was a dream I'd had since I'd been 9 years old.

In high school, I’ve been nominated for two very interesting categories: Most Likely to End Up on the Cover of Rolling Stones and Most Likely to Become a New York Times Bestselling Author. My graduating class definitely had a bright vision of what my life was going to become and I hold them accountable for inflating my ego and believing in my writing so wholeheartedly. They know firsthand how incredibly important this dream of becoming an author is to me…hence why I’m even thankful for communities and outlets like Vocal to be able to continue to cultivate this passion of mine.

When the opportunity to share my story arose, I immediately started scribbling and organizing my thoughts in a cohesive collection of chapters. I titled each one based on the premise of what each chapter is going to consist of. Each chapter title being crazier than the next.

Then, I started free writing…noticing in the process that my free writing process is very old school. I noticed that I preferred to write my thoughts physically on paper and then transcribe them onto a word document where the original flow of words either grew, shrunk or was scrapped all together. That is essentially what writing your first book looks like; lots of trial and error, erasing, reshaping, rewriting, rediscovering, and so on.

I decided that my debut novel is going to be a memoir…a memoir encompassing the story of my mild form of cerebral palsy, living with it, going through the medical trials and tribulations, the awkward stages of dating, the inevitable moments of rejection by guys and society at large, the beautiful endeavor of my music journalism coverages that morphed into freelance opportunities allowing me to continue to write about music, and of course…the trauma that each medical procedure caused my body.

I kept writing and noticed that unlike my Vocal articles or the articles I’d written for other publications in the past aren’t going to be as smooth as they have been because this story is not the story of someone else, it’s not meant to appease the A&R executives, record labels or club promoters. It’s not a fluff piece. It’s not an op-ed. It's not click-bait.

These chapters, these stories, and these narratives were once real memories that are now being told from a third-person party perspective. I quickly noticed as I wrote that despite my multiple insertions of comic relief and humor, many of these memories were painful to relive, but crucial in being able to tell this story as accurately as possible.

There were certain chapters I omitted, certain chapters I’ve scrapped and then rewritten, certain chapters that I put off for a long period of time because going through it would have awakened a neuro synapsis in my brain that has shut its lights off long ago…and yet…I metaphorically entered that dark, neuropathic basement, dusted off the floorboards and turned on the dimly lit lightbulb to look for these sheer memories; resurfacing the marble core memories and trying to make sense of what was something positive that came out of this? How do I tell this in a way in which I had experienced it without sounding too negatively about it?

Hence why…it has taken so long. It wasn’t the lack of inspiration or the lack of having anything to say. It was the crushing reality of processing that a given event has actually happened, the complexity of doing it justice in being able to relate the story, and the ability to keep the attention of the reader.

As a reader myself, I found that one of the biggest challenges was figuring out how I can make the reader passionate about the story and so immersed that they’d start flipping page after page after page. I want to share a message of resilience, overcoming adversity and the incomparable power of our minds as it relates to turning dreams into reality. Now...in 2025...I can confidently say that I feel like it's going to be ready to grace the bookshelves this year. Gun to my head...I don't have a release date for you yet, but it's coming.

My world is generally governed by common sense, logic, and hard core discipline. When I set a goal for myself, I make it happen. I’m not a fan of deadlines as it contributes a lot of manufactured stress and anxiety…sending me into a spiral of apathy and indifference. I'd like to do things on my own time.

The painful art of becoming an author is a difficult one to grasp. Writing doesn’t feel like work, a chore or an annoying errand I have to run and check off of my to-do list. It’s the thing that keeps my heart beating, adds meaning to my life, provides a clear-cut purpose of what I enjoy doing and what I hope to continue to be doing for the rest of my life. That is not to say it doesn’t come with its own baggage. Sometimes you just don’t feel like it, there’s no inspiration to write, or worse not enough time to be able to do so in a way that makes it worthwhile. I personally need 4-5 hours of free writing time if I want a proper piece to come out of it...otherwise it's garbage.

However exciting and riveting, it’s still sprinkled with notes of doubt, worry, panic and humiliation. There have been moments where I haven’t gotten it right, where I have spoken too soon or misspoke on account of being misinformed. There have been moments where people have dismissed my writing and told me a lot of my work was going to be displayed for free. I shouldn’t be counting on compensation right off the bat. While they were right about some stuff, that has never deterred me from continuing to write…

There was once a dark period that spanned a period of a year…exactly one year before I joined the community of writers at Vocal and rediscovered my niche.

Looking back at some of my old pieces that have been rushed by deadlines and the nature of getting the news out as soon as possible, I can admit that the writing itself was a little bit rough…it wasn’t me. Some pieces were full of passion and engagement while others were just assignments. Whatever it was, it was important to keep writing. I needed and wanted as much practice as possible…which is why I’d never monetized any of it before.

Then, when it was told to me that the writing is absolute trash, I quit. When I tell you that there wasn’t a single day in that one long year that I haven’t thought about writing…it consumed my every day life. I didn’t know how to cope without it. Since I’ve quit any and all publications that I had previously written for, I had no outlet until I stumbled upon Vocal.

Vocal and its community was like a defibrillator. It shocked my system in the best possible way and made me fall in love with writing yet again. I hadn’t been consistent upon reviving my journey back in 2018…but that is all about to change.

This year’s major new year’s resolution is to finish the book and get it out to my audience as soon as possible. I have 3 chapters left that are currently in the editing stages…one of the hardest chapters that I have been purposely putting off because of their very complex nature, lots of details that I’d like to get right and express in layman’s terms, and lots of painful emotions that are relatively hard to translate…but nevertheless this year is going to be focused on writing. This is the plant that I would like to water the most this year…

Vocal, this very platform that you are able to read this piece from, has given me so much exposure and so much understanding into the kind of writer I’d like to be. I will continue to contribute to this community as often as possible. It is not only my tangible outlet to be able to share my thoughts, my stories, my narratives, and fictional concepts, but an outlet that allows me to keep my emotions at bay.

I plan on dedicating every single weekend, like this one, towards going to a coffee shop or a secluded place preferably filled with Lofi or Indie beats and keep writing until my hands are sore. I have plenty to share. My thoughts are like a kaleidoscope full of intricate ideas. This year will be the year of my debut novel and plenty more pieces on Vocal.

I’d like to sincerely thank the community for reading and keeping my dream of being a writer alive. You all mean more to me than you know.