When I started writing, I didn’t know any of the rules.
Truth be told, I didn’t even know there were rules when I wrote my first story. What I did know was that I had a passion for storytelling and so—without knowing about markets or subgenres or career strategy—I just wrote.
I began in romance, wandered into women’s fiction, and eventually fell in love with psychological suspense and thrillers. Somewhere along the way, I built a career I never could have imagined in those early days.
I’m currently revising books fifty-five and fifty-six while plotting book fifty-seven—I know, that’s a lot—and there are still moments when I stare at the screen and question if I know what I’m doing.
It’s in those moments that I have to remind myself that it’s okay. Every writer feels this way. My journey to this point wasn’t easy. Yes, there have been a lot of highs, but I’ve also lived all the lows. The errors, the rejections, the reinventions, and a whole lot of stubbornness are what got me through.
If we were sitting down together over coffee, here are the five things I would share about what I wish I’d known twenty years ago when I wrote my first story.
- Your Biggest Cheerleader Has to Be Yourself
Before you sell a book. Before someone blurbs you. Before you see your name in print—you must first believe in yourself.
Writing is often quiet and lonely. Sometimes the only applause you get comes from inside your head. If you wait for validation from the outside, you’ll wait forever. Believe in your voice, even when no one else does (yet). Because your belief will be the force that keeps you writing on the days you want to quit.
That belief is also what helps you make the hard career decisions that move you toward where you actually want to go. Stay tuned to that small internal voice. Everyone will have advice. Much of it will be excellent. But not all excellent advice is right for you.
When I was trying to sell what would become my breakout novel, I was repeatedly told it was too hard of a sell. The market wasn’t strong enough. The genre couldn’t break out. I needed to be a bigger name.
I spent more than three years trying to convince editors and agents to believe in the book. Eventually, I realized I needed to believe in it first. I made the decision to self-publish—a terrifying leap at the time. But it turned out to be one of the best choices I could have made. Editors began approaching me, and we ultimately went to auction for the very book no one thought they could sell.
Believing in yourself doesn’t mean you’ll always be right. It means you trust yourself enough to try. And sometimes, that makes all the difference.
- No Doesn’t Mean You Failed
Early in my career, I wrote nine books that were published. On the tenth, my publisher passed—and questioned the direction I was taking.
At the time, it was a devastating conversation to have. Looking back, it was also one of the greatest gifts.
That no forced me to look deeper at what I was writing, why I was writing it, and how I wanted to grow. That rejection didn’t mean I wasn’t good and that my career as a writer was over, but in the moment, I let that no drown me in a sea of self-doubt (which is totally an okay thing to do as long as you don’t stay in there).
I stepped back from writing. I went back to the career I’d left when I decided to write full time. I stopped attending writing conferences. I stopped meeting up with my writing friends. I actually stopped writing completely.
I stayed in that sea of doubt for a long time until I had to remind myself of something I already knew: no one will ever believe in me more than me.
So I asked myself a simple question: What do I want to write?
I gave myself permission to play with words again. What came out was different. Off-genre. A different voice. A different tone.
I tested the waters by self-publishing a few of those novels under a different name—and was shocked when readers not only picked up the stories, but asked for more. I’ve now written more than fifteen novels under that name, and they continue to surprise me with their success.
That renewed belief in my storytelling ability gave me the confidence to refocus on what I wanted to write under my own name again. I found new energy through reinvention.
Did that mean the rest of my journey was easy sailing? Far from it. Five years ago, I wrote a story purely for myself—one I hoped would bridge the gap between genres so that my readers wouldn’t jump ship. It took two years of revisions and three years of trying to sell it before a publisher picked it up. The old me might have given up. There were a lot of nos, after all, for that novel. In fact, I wrote and sold six other psychological suspense and thriller novels before we finally found that one yes. That book is finally coming out this October.
Rejections aren’t knockdowns. They’re redirects.
- You Don’t Have to Write Every Day
You’ll hear a lot of people say, Treat writing like a job—write every day.
Are they right? For them, probably. But for you? Does writing have to look like typing words on a page seven days a week? For me, the answer is no (there is such a thing as balance and life and realizing you are more than just a writer… but that was a whole different lesson I had to learn)
Some of the most productive writing I’ve ever done happened without touching the keyboard—when I was thinking about story, plotting, daydreaming, or talking through scenes with someone else. Writing isn’t just mechanics; it’s imagination in motion.
If your process doesn’t include words every single day, that is okay and it doesn’t mean you are lazy. It also doesn’t mean you aren’t a writer and if someone has said that to you, or if there is a little niggling voice at the back of your mind saying you’re a fake because you don’t write daily, I want you to know that’s 100% wrong.
One of the best things I ever did for my writing career was take a strengths-based training course, where I realized not only that everyone writes differently, but that it’s okay to be different. What works for one person may not (and probably won’t) work for you for one simple reason: we all have core strengths. When we lean into them, we become better storytellers and give our readers a better experience.
The goal isn’t to follow someone else’s rules. Sure, take that advice. Be inspired by their journey. But ultimately, the goal is to find the rhythm that keeps you connected to your work.
- You Can Learn to Write a Different Way
For years, I called myself a pantser: someone who writes by the seat of their pants.
But the reality was that halfway through every manuscript, I’d discover I was on the wrong path and have to rewrite huge chunks. It made deadlines stressful and my blood pressure high, and honestly after writing 50+ novels this way, I was ready to admit the panster way was no longer working for me.
An editor challenged me to try plotting. I resisted, convinced knowing the whole story would kill the magic. Instead, what happened was this: the magic stayed but the process became easier. The characters still surprised me. The twists still happened. And I finished books in half the time.
My point is this: You can teach an old dog new tricks—and sometimes, those tricks turn into lifelong strengths. I’m not saying the way you’re writing is wrong, but if you’re struggling like I was and are the type who says, “I can only write ‘this’ way,” let me challenge you to find out if that is true. There is no one way to write a story anymore, there is only the way that works for you right now.
- All the Highs Mean You Have to Live the Lows
We all want to have that breakout novel. We all want to hit bestseller lists and see our name on the New York Times list. We all want the accolades, the royalties flowing, the movie deals, and the kind of rabid fan base where readers are waiting for your next novel.
I wanted all of that too. And I’ll be honest—some of those dreams have come true in ways I never expected. Others are still on my list. But none of them arrived in a straight line.
This life—being an author with published novels—can come with extraordinary highs. You land an agent. You get a book deal. You hit a list. You receive that first reader email that makes you cry and reminds you why you started.
It also comes with quiet, heavy lows. Reviews that sting. Projects that stall. Sales that dip. Long stretches of uncertainty that never quite go away.
Even now, after fifty+ novels, I still have moments where I stare at my screen and wonder if I know what I’m doing.
What I’ve learned is this: those moments don’t mean I shouldn’t be here. They mean I’m in it.
If you choose this career, you’re choosing both sides of the roller coaster. There’s no success without hardship. No applause without rejection. No growth without disappointment.
If you can make peace with that—if you can keep showing up anyway—you’ve done what a lot others haven’t been able to, and congratulations to that!
