In the fall of 2022, when I told people that the 22-23 school year would be my last one spent as a classroom teacher, the one question I got most was “What are you going to do instead?” Almost without a thought, I’d respond with “I’m going to be a writer.”

I didn’t know exactly what that meant at the time, but over the last year since leaving the classroom, I’ve had a chance to learn.

For my entire 23-year career in education, the only thing I’d written was a never-ending stream of lesson plans. But stories drifted in and out of my mind, like dreams that fled the moment I realized I was dreaming. There was no time for stories in the hustle and bustle of lesson plans and the day-to-day operations of educating young people. I’d encourage my students to be creative free-thinkers and follow their dreams, while I put my dreams in a box and buried them under a workload of paperwork and stress.

So as soon as I left my job in the summer of 2023, I began trying to figure out exactly what it meant to be a writer- exactly what it meant for me to be a creative free-thinker and follow my own dreams.

Here’s what I learned:

• I LOVE learning new things.
• Writing is hard, but it’s also fun.
• I crave community.
• The end of the book is just the beginning.

I LOVE learning new things.

By learning new things, I’ve picked up some valuable skills, like writing a novel, crafting a scene with dialogue and exposition, creating a webpage and organizing a writing group. I’ve also learned something very important: I’ve learned what I am and what I’m NOT.

I thought I’d be a nonfiction writer and dabble in health and wellness topics, then I thought maybe I’d enjoy being an author of mystery thrillers for adults. I’ve discovered that I’m neither one of these things. But it took some trial and error to figure that out.

Over time I’ve learned that I’m a writer of fiction for middle grade kids. This makes sense. For years, I taught kids in 4th-6th grades, so no wonder I find myself drawn to the stories for this age group. There’s just something so wonderfully awkward, and yet magical, about this time in a young person’s life, and I love being able to be a part of it. Plus, sometimes I think I’m just an 11-year-old on the inside- maybe a little awkward, but also in awe of the possibilities and wonder in life.

Writing is hard, but it’s also fun.

For months, I’ve taken online courses, watched tons of YouTube videos, joined BookTok, and read more middle grade fiction than I have in quite a while. All in the pursuit of educating myself about writing and what it means to be a good writer.

My computer and I have become BFFs and spend hours a day hanging out in my office, on my front porch and sitting on my swing out back. I think my typing must be at least 700 words per minute at this point, and I probably air-type in my sleep.

When I’m writing, I’m positively lost in my story. My characters become real people, and I think about them often. So much so, that in the time since I’ve finished my book, I’ve grown to miss my make-believe people and their make-believe world.

Writing is hard when you can’t find the right words to use, or when you get too bogged down in wondering if people will like what you’ve written. Will they understand it? Does the story flow like it should? Would the character really say that comment or take that action? Will anyone ever read it?

Being an author can be a difficult journey because there are so many options. Do I self-publish? How do I do that? Where do I find an editor, a cover artist, beta readers, and on and on? Or do I go the traditional route? Where do I find an agent, and how in the world can I get one to work with me? What does it mean to query? Who will publish my book?

All of these questions can be intimidating, so I learned to just boil it down to one step at a time. And the most important question I’ve asked myself is this: What is my goal?

I’ve decided that my goal is to reach that one kid that needs my book. If I reach them, then I’ve done my job. Anything else is gravy.

I crave community.

Writing can be a lonely job. Remember how I said my computer is my BFF?

As I wrote my book, I read every chapter out loud to my husband and sent each chapter I finished to my mom. They dutifully followed along and offered so much loving support. It was everything!

However, over time, I grew to crave a community. I wanted to be around other women like me, fellow writers and dreamers of stories. I searched online and around our town, but there was nothing to be found, so I created a group. It was small at first, just a few of us in a Facebook group, and four of us met in person around my table that first week.

Now we’ve grown to almost fifty online members and three small groups that meet in person weekly, and we hold large meetings where we gather, mingle and learn from one another. It’s an amazing community of women writers that lift each other up in support, listen to one another’s ideas, and explore the world of writing together.

I’ve found my people.

The end of the book is just the beginning.

Just as the end of my decades-long teaching career was the beginning of my journey into writing, the end of my first book is just the beginning of what’s coming next. Not only am I facing lots of editing time, but I’m also moving toward decisions about all those questions I mentioned earlier in the publishing realm.

Most importantly, though, the ending of my first book will make way for the beginning of my second. The end of the second novel will pave the way to beginning my third. And so on, and so on…

I’m just getting started.