by S. T. Finn

(Shadowfax Author Series: Writers on Writing)

After I wrote my first novel, I developed an irrational fear that I might never be able to write another book. When I finished my second novel, and then my third, I still kept worrying that I might not be able to write the NEXT one.

It made no sense. But I couldn’t believe that it would happen. There was no way lightning could strike more than once. Even when it did. Again and again.

It wasn’t until I wrote nine or ten books that I finally began to release the worry. I simply set the illogical fear aside, even though it was still there.

After dozens of books, I still have this lingering sense that there’s no way I can do it again. I mean … sit at a desk, or on a couch, or in a car, and start typing away? Finishing the first paragraph or chapter, and then … write 60-80,000 more words?

It seemed so daunting. So … impossible.

What’s that about?

My guess is that this irrational fear stems from my childhood.

My family moved around constantly. I went to twelve different schools by the time I was in the tenth grade. Sometimes, we moved twice during a single school year, just packing up and drifting from one place to another like Irish gypsies (without the Traveling caravan).

My mother was a restless person, so maybe I inherited that bug from her. In my twenties, I traveled up and down the East Coast, living in a car or a van, couch-surfing, sleeping in warehouses, garages, barns, baseball dugouts, even caves (all true).

When I wrote my first novel (long hand, because I didn’t own a computer—or much else), I was camped on someone’s couch, recovering from walking pneumonia.

When I wrote the first part of my second novel, I was living on a school bus. When I finished that novel and started the third, I was living in a small art colony. After that, I was living in a camper or a trailer or who knows where.

I did a lot of writing in public libraries and bookstores, or I sat in cars with my laptop propped on the steering wheel, typing away until the battery died.

Only when I finally settled down (in my 40s) did that nagging sense of restlessness go away. And that’s when I stopped worrying about the next book.

As unstable as my life was, as restless as I felt when I sat down to write each book … I guess the thought of being able to remain sitting where I was just seemed impossible. I would have to relocate. Go somewhere else. How could I possibly stay LONG ENOUGH to finish a book?

But somehow … I did. Every time. Again and again. Rarely in the same place. But I never gave up.

And that’s the point I really wanted to get across.

If you’re a writer and you have a story to tell … don’t give up.

If you’re sitting at your desk (or couch or car), staring at the screen (or page), wondering how you can possibly finish that book you’ve been dreaming about … just remember this: Every story begins with one word, followed by another, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, chapter after chapter until … The End.

You can do it. In a way, books write themselves, as long as you commit to letting it happen, as long as you sit down and write.

Take it from me—the eternal skeptic of my own ability to write another book … if I can do it, time after time, anyone can.

As long as you believe in your ideas, your characters, your will to become the best writer you can be, you’ll write your next book. And the one after that. As long as you choose to write, no matter what stands in your way.

Don’t give up.

Just believe in yourself. Have faith in the process. Be determined and make sure you have a place to write—anywhere, as long as you can claim as your writing space.

Then, put your fingers on the keyboard … and write.

Keep writing. Day after day, month after month, year after year, if that’s what it takes. Because you owe it to yourself and your ideas and your characters. Right?

Soon enough … you’ll be telling everyone about your own process and we’ll be reading your books.

I look forward to it.

S. T. Finn has lived in dozens of villages, towns, and cities throughout the United States, sleeping in cars, vans, warehouses, art colonies, ranches, even a Zen Monastery.

The author of FAR AWAY PLACE, JUST A DROP IN THE OCEAN, and other books, Finn currently lives (and writes) in the Catskill Mountains, surrounded by forests, streams, and lots of feathered friends.