I Quit. I Think?

I was ready to quit my pursuit of writing as a career. I have written two novels for a collective total of 202,635 words. I moved here to New York in 2012, a week after graduating undergrad to pursue my dream of becoming a writer. Initially, I wanted to be the black Carrie Bradshaw (Remind me to tell you how that show was a complete lie). The first few years I wrote for magazines and blogs, worked retail, and ran to every event I could to network.

Fast forward six and a half years later and I recently began reevaluating whether or not it was time to dull out my professional pen as a writer. I will always be a writer because words are woven into the fabrication of my melanin. Even if my work is never read by anyone else other than me. But the industry has undergone a 180-degree change. Magazines are almost non-existent and digital publications are cutting back budgets and having huge layoffs at least once a year. Not to mention I refuse to write click-bait with little to no substance for a dollar. I found myself in a career limbo. In the meantime I kept writing. I have worked in call centers, retail, as a tutor, part-time braider, secretary for a scholarship foundation and the list goes on and on. Recently, I had enough. Seeing my name on the spine of a book started to seem blurry dream deferred and job security started to feel like an unattainable promise. It felt like I was in a cycle of ups and downs with very slow progress. Throw in the comparison demon of social media and I was completely over it. 

I have read and studied enough writers to know that it isn’t unusual for some writers to take 20 years to make it as a successful writer (i.e. Ta-nehisi Coates). But the delayed gratification was killing me. I was ready to travel and go out without pinching pennies because New York is so expensive that it costs to breathe. I was strongly considering finally calling it quits with my love/hate relationship with New York and pack up and head back home with my tail tucked between my legs. I have never given up on anything, but there is always a first for everything, right? Right?

In the pit of my stomach I knew that it wasn’t the right choice and that I was choosing to cop out. Many people around me encouraged me to head back to St. Louis to regroup. They said maybe things weren’t meant to turn out in the way I had hoped. My mind agreed but my gut knew better. I had set out to New York with a goal in mind and it hadn’t come to fruition yet. I’d taken additional writing courses and sacrificed time with my family, attending birthday parties and funerals, comfort, and comfort for this dream. Too much was on the line. God made it very clear that this is what I was supposed to do with my life even before I moved here. Giving up would mean I was calling God a liar or that I stopped believing right? Even while I was working in retail I would pray for a sign and a big name author would walk through the door and literally offer me advice or tell me to keep going. Professors, executives at book club companies, and award-winning authors all somehow always struck up a conversation with me while I worked.

In January I was laid off my job and in a deep slump. I was exhausted from all the back and forth. My first novel was shelved and roughly 50 agents had rejected my second book for representation. There also aren’t any contemporary novels being published by black women. Did that mean the industry didn’t care about seeing us on the page? I battled with if I was just being an impatient millennial or if it was really time to throw in the towel. It had been the roughest two years in my life, but I had also been stretched and challenged the most. I prayed the prayer again. If I was supposed to be here in New York and writing books, God would have to send me a clear sign. The time he came through with a blatant trust me and the process. I met a prominent writer at an event that was a strong connection for my career. That wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t here in the city. The very next day I also received news that I won a contest for my novel that I had forgotten I’d applied.

I considered the option of self-publishing, but quickly dismissed it. Although I believe in myself as I writer, I am aware that I do not know everything. Aside from having to cover the cost of publishing up front, I would have to hire an editor to help push the novel to its greatest potential. I don’t want to be any writer. I want people to study my work long after I am gone. There is no coincidence that Baldwin’s novel ‘If Beale Street Could Talk’ was recently made into a film almost 44 years after it was originally published. I want to write novels that reflect the times but also stand the test of time. It’s tough when most of the people in publishing don’t look like me nor relate to the kind of stories that I write. Often times it feels like an impenetrable wall.  It’s like having to go through the system to talk to my own people. It is all so frustrating and mentally exhausting. 

I wish could wrap up this post with a happy ending with an agent and a book deal, but that isn’t the case. I am still in limbo. I am currently still unemployed and my inbox is full of rejects from agents who “don’t connect with the characters in a way that they’d hoped”. I don’t know, but maybe it isn’t meant to happen yet. I can’t question God’s timing. What I can do do is prepare so that whenever the moment happens, I will be ready. Even though times are dark right now, I have officially decided not to give up. No matter how much or how long it takes. I have so many books, videos, movies, and creative ideas all swarming around in my head. May makes seven years here in the concrete jungle and I am still in pursuit of a dream. I refuse to settle. I also have learned the importance of paying attention to the crumbs God drops in our path to let us know that we are on the right path. I know that this is all for a greater purpose. 

I struggle with how and what to share because I’m such a private person. I have also learned people can’t use against you what they don’t know, but those are survival tactics. And my faith has to speak louder than my fears. This is my way of being more transparent about the journey so that those who rock with me can follow along and be apart of it. More importantly I want to encourage the creatives struggling to figure it out. You’re not alone. Don’t give up on yourself because you may not ever forgive yourself if you do. If you would like for me to write about the journey more often please let me know in the comments below. 

Thank you so much for reading!