It’s a Writer’s Life for Me by Martha Reed

True confession. When I started writing my first mystery novel, I had no idea what I was doing. I had a vague cast of characters, an interesting (to me) exotic setting, and a glimmer of a crime idea. I had very little to no practical knowledge about constructing a plot or developing characters or a story or character arc. The only positive thing I had to tip the scale to my side was an irresistible compulsion to see if writing a well-told mystery story was a creative challenge I could pull off.

And so, the adventure began.

At first, I kept my writing a secret and guilty pleasure. I felt that what I was doing was too baby-new, too fresh, too delicate to share with people. Initially, I was afraid that my feeble first attempt would be scorned, dismissed, that people would scoff. That I wouldn’t be able to write a good story, and I’d end up a failure. Did I need that in my life?

That’s the first hurdle I crawled over.

I started to share the idea that I was writing a novel once I got comfortable enough to defend it. The general reaction was divided into two camps. Yes, there was a group of scoffers, but the larger percentage turned out to be supportive in a hesitant way, excited that some day writing bestsellers would make me rich and famous.

Newsflash: For most writers, the reward that comes from writing isn’t either of those things. And that’s okay.

I studiously worked at making myself a better creative writer. I studied the Golden Age mystery craft masters like Dorothy L. Sayers and Agatha Christie, and the stories of modern superstars like Sara Paretsky, Louise Penny, and Hank Phillippi Ryan. I attended every mystery convention or conference or workshop I could find and afford. Bit by bit, my writing improved.

I knew I was on the right track when my second Nantucket novel, “The Nature of the Grave” won an Independent Publisher Award (“IPPY”) for Mid-Atlantic Best Regional Fiction.

I’ll admit to the thrill I still get when I open a letter (olden days) or email (modern times) that begins with the words: “Congratulations! Your story has been accepted for publication.” The surprising insight is that as nice as awards and publication and readership are, I get more joy and satisfaction from completing the story. There’s no better feeling in the world than listening through the tale and knowing that it’s polished to perfection, and I don’t need to change a single word.

Now that I’ve reached that stage in my writerly development, the next giant step was in realizing that the real gift in living a writing life was in having a purpose.

When I began this journey, I was intimidated by other writers. I quickly learned that we’re all on the same team. We’re all part of the same welcoming, inclusive, and giving community. The more writers I met, the easier it got. I started tentatively volunteering at conferences and with organizations like Sisters in Crime, Inc. As my confidence grew, it got easier still.

Then came the Great Flip Flop when the writer’s community and its members started reaching out to me. I’ve held organizational officer positions. I’ve worked as a short-story editor. I’ve spoken at public events. I get asked for book blurbs and reviews.

I never imagined I would be doing this, but boy, is it fun!

My latest insight is that creative writing has become the keel and rudder for my life. Writing provides my balance and direction. Writing has expanded my life experience. It continues to direct my life changes. My ongoing desire for deep research gives me a very handy excuse to investigate exciting new locales. Writing gives me the confidence to fearlessly enter these new arenas and meet even more new people. And new people and new life experiences enrich my writing.

Like the perfection of a DNA double helix, the yin and the yang, creative writing is the gift that keeps on giving.