Remember your very first story?

I do remember it, vividly. It was something that was placed in the “Star Wars” universe just after the 2nd prequel back in 2002″, and after I read a novel that was centered inbetween “The Phantom Menace” and “Attack Of The Clones”. I remember reading that book and somehow ended up writing my own short story. When I remenisce now, and when I look back at what and how I was writing back then, a shiver goes through me. It was bad. Like, really bad. I can’t believe the grammar I used back then. But still, they were my first attempts in writing, and I still remember the vivid fantasy I had back then, making things up that would probably never happen (welcome to my life).

But what I remember more vividly is 5 years back. I had just finished my job training 2 years earlier, and I was massively unhappy with where I’ve worked. Since those first tries in writing as a teenager, with all the “Star Wars” centered stories, my biggest dream had been to become a professional writer one day. I knew I wasn’t even close to be as good as others were, and maybe never would be, but that never diminished my love for books or texts. On the contrary: somehow, I felt challenged. Then, one day, I got my hands on a copy of “Face Of Death” by Cody McFadyen, and soon after (just because this is one of the goddamn best books that have ever been written in the history of books and writing), “Shadow Man”, which was the first book of the series. And when I was finished, I knew what I wanted to do.

Writing my own story.

Not a short story this time, like all those years before, no. A long one. A real book.

And thanks to these two amazing books, my brain was practically overflowing with ideas. I had no idea where to put them, because they were so many and they came to me in such a rush that I didn’t know what to write first. Before I knew, I had finished 9 or 10 chapters. I was on a roll, how writers like to describe their very inspirational phase. I had quite a few people/friends read a few excerpts of what I had written down so far, and everyone of them was pleasantly surprised of what I had brought to paper. They urged me to go on, telling me they wanted to read more (which, of course, I couldn’t do because I still had planned to one day publish that exact piece of work, and what good would it do if a lot of people already knew every single bit of it?). That was most likely my biggest and most productive time in the writing process. Whenever I got a good comment or critics, it kept me going, kept inspirations, ideas and motivation flow into my head like a river. I had even created my own cover (see picture above) and had researched about certain places and death methods in the USA, etc. I loved this process.

Then time took its toll, and things in my life happened that stopped me being able to write anymore. By then, I had already started on writing the very last chapter (without even knowing much about what was happening inbetween – I had stopped writing the “normal” chapters in a row when I reached the 15th chapter, then started on the final chapter because I had a great idea of revealing everything), and without sounding bigheaded: it was amazing. I absolutely loved it. But somehow, I had lost my spirit. I just stopped writing because I didn’t get any feedbacks anymore. I didn’t ask people to read what I had written down because I had started doubting myself. My ability to write anything decent that I could live with had slowly faded, and whenever I read back what I had put onto paper, I wanted to take it and crumple it up, burn it immediately, because I thought “What kind of crap is that?”. I know I was in a self-destructive phase, concerning my writing career. I went from having the brightest future planned ahead in my mind from zero ability and motivation to write whatsoever. Years passed where I regretted bygone times, where I dearly missed the times where I could write all day and night and didn’t think I would ever be able to go to bed without writing at least one whole chapter, and I have never been able to relive those times, I was caught in such massive self-doubts that I stopped believing that I would ever start writing again, let alone on that long story I had done so far – because I had started to despise it.

And then last year happened, when I started this blog. First meant as nothing but a theatre based blog where I could write down my experiences in german and London theatres/musicals, or travel experiences, it soon turned into a blog where I first started writing about books I’ve read – until I published my first Short Story on here. I don’t know how it happened – it was probably one of my friends starting publishing short stories on her own wordpress blog, too, – but that was the moment I slowly stopped thinking I wasn’t capable of writing anymore. I didn’t get much feedback on what I expressed on here, but the few things I got from some people motivated me. I was back on a roll, even if only very slowly, and I’m not even close to be back where I used to be 5 years ago.

Today, I have published 4 whole Short Stories on here, but somehow, I could never forget that first story I wrote. The first real story. The one that I originally had planned and dreamed of being published. The one where I had put in so much love and sweat and work and inspiration and effort. It always drifted around in the back of my head whenever I sat down to write a blog or a story or even a letter to a friend. I could never forget it, like a long lost love. And still, for 5 years, I hated it after I had given up on it, and whenever I re-read it, I was hating myself for the crap I had written down. But somehow, I could never throw it away or delete it from my harddrive, even if I would maybe never look at it or take it into my hands again. But two days ago, I took all my courage and will and got it out.

Since then, I have made a promise to myself: write at least 1.000 words a day after work. I have begun to translate it into english (as I had originally written it in my native language, german, but now prefer the english language way more), and re-write it anew. Putting in some changes here and there, especially the parts where it lacked a lot of logic in retrospect (which was probably the reason why I hated it so much). Right now, every day there is enough in my head to keep to my daily goal of 1.000 words, today it were even 1.800, and I feel like this time, I can really finish what I’ve started. After all, that one story had been my baby. The one thing that back then meant more than anything to me. It had held the promise of a better life for me, for my biggest dream to come true, to escape the dull and lonely life I was living and nowadays somehow have come to live again, because hands down: life and people never stop changing, the world never stops turning just because you need it to stop.

And the thought of finally giving that one dream that I gave up on 5 years ago another chance of coming true is beautiful. I know I am by far not a good writer, there are loads and loads of good writers out there, who have more potential than me and do not need a dictionary by their side while they’re typing. But I also know that I finally found some confidence again to fulfil my dream, to trust myself again with the feeling that I actually CAN do it this time. That I can finish what I started, no matter how long it will take. And that this time, hopefully, I will not let myself doubt my abilities because of the lack of feedback or support I get, because of so-called friends’ ignorance and lack of caring for what means a hell of a lot to me. I feel motivated again to start all over with what I have started 5 years back, with finding that one special potential in my 1st real story that I have seen in it all these years back.

And I hope to one day being able to present my story to the world.