The Perilous Journey of One Author

The thought of publishing again used to bring me great anxiety. If you've read some of my other blogs, you know that a horrific experience with my first ever editor had me running for the hills and far away from publishing.

My first published work was Tristan, in 2014. I knew it was a good story but I also knew I sucked at writing. I needed a lot of work and a lot of practice if I wanted to be a real writer. I turned to said editor to help me polish him up. Polish is kind. He needed a facelift and some serious reconstructive surgery. I hoped to learn from her. I was scared (my writer's ego was fragile at that time) but I was open.

It's not that she didn't have points but she was nasty. And, she interjected her opinions on things that were near and dear to me concerning kink. I felt incredibly kink-shamed. She had told me she was familiar with kink but she wasn't. She confirmed for me what I already suspected: I couldn't write, and if I was going to write 'this kind of stuff,' it had to be done "X" way or it was "wrong." Unfortunately, her idea of wrong was my heart and soul. The things I was scared to tell people about myself that I hoped I'd connect with through my writing of them.