How I Went from Blank Page to Published Author

An overused cliche became my muse

We all started somewhere. Or, maybe you’re just starting. Hello, there.

I spent fifteen years talking about becoming a writer. Just blabbing away, mainly to myself. I researched frantically, exhausting the search words: “freelance,” “writing,” “how do I become a writer?”

Does any of this sound familiar?

I would scour endless websites and blog posts, hoping the magic answer would pop out and smack me in the face. The answer to my nagging question: How do I become a writer?

I foolishly thought that if I subscribed to the newsletters, bought the books and absorbed every piece of writing advice out there, that I would magically become a writer.

Let’s get real.

I knew that no editor was ever going to spontaneously ring my phone and say, “Hey there, I’ve been looking for you. I heard you want to be a writer. Please write to me!”

Nope. Just nope.

Taking the leap

An epiphany came to me as I watched my youngest son enter the kindergarten doors. I waved goodbye as the bubbly teacher pulled the doors shut, sealing the baby years of my motherhood journey.

Right there, right then, I decided . . . I was going to become a writer.

No more talk. No more Google. No more pipe dreaming*. No more waiting for these mystical editors to magically barge down my door.

I brewed a cup of coffee (because true, legit writers drink a lot of coffee, right?) and opened my laptop.

So now what?

The blank page before my eyes was vast. I panicked.

What am I going to write? What will I do with it once it’s written? Am I going to start an essay? An article? Wait, or am I supposed to start writing a novel?

Just write. Just write. Just write. If not now, when?

The empty page on the screen was mocking me, validating my incompetence as a writer. But, this is all you’ve ever wanted. Don’t quit now. You haven’t even started. You’ve only brewed a cup of coffee.

Write what you know. Ah, the much-debated writing world mantra came to my mind.

Write What You Know

What did I know? Hmm. . . What did I know? I must possibly know something. Nope, nothing. Fresh out of the knows. C’mon, you must know something! Don’t stop now. . .

Okay, fine.

I knew I already missed my kids. I knew I didn’t feel fulfillment with being a stay-at-home-mom. I knew I found motherhood boring. But I loved my kids. I knew I was lonely. I knew I questioned my worth. I knew I missed the days of my kid-free marriage. I knew I had much to be grateful for, yet I felt unsatisfied. I knew I was torn between the person I was and the person I wanted to be. I knew I was afraid of aging. I knew I might be drinking too much. I knew I feared I wasn’t a good mother. I knew I felt inferior to working moms. But…I knew I could write something that people might want to read.

At that moment, that mantra became my muse. At that moment, I became a writer.

A Writer Is Born

I pounded out essays about the beauty — and the dark side — of parenting and marriage.

• I wrote to pass the time.
• I wrote to fill the newfound silence in my home.
• I wrote to grieve the baby years that I had once wished away.

Heck, I even started a blog.

I wrote. I pitched. I queried. Some accepted. Many, many rejected.

Writing has filled a desire that I always knew I had, but never fully acknowledged how deep it burned.

What does my writing future hold? I don’t know. One thing is for sure: I will never have to tell my grandchildren how much I wanted to be a writer. Nope. I just changed that narrative.

Kids, your grandmother was a writer.

Because she wrote what she knew. As the days, weeks and years pass, you just know more and more and more and more. . .

What do you know?

*Etymology nerd alert: Did you know that the term “pipe dream” comes from the 1800s as a reference to ideas you have when smoking opium?

Emme Beckett is a former grant/speechwriter turned mom blogger, turned essayist, and occasional humorist.

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