Alana Smith
My finger hovered over the send button, and I hesitated as all the doubts about this email flooded my brain. I pressed send before I could change my mind. “What’s the worst she could say?” I figured.
I’m a writer, but I haven’t always been one. I’ve always had a lot to say, out loud and in my own head, but I’m a nurse anesthetist by trade and my career is in healthcare, not writing.
But eight years ago, when my first son was born, I had so many emotions, questions, and inner dialogue that I just had to get out. It was as if the words were just bubbling up in me, searching for an outlet. I was able to more clearly express myself, after the exhausting nights, when I would put pen to paper, if even for just a few sentences.
I didn’t know it then, but that was when writing began for me.
For years, I shared a few essays and blog posts with friends, but never had the courage or time to do much more with it. Because, well, life. I had another baby and was busy with two boys, and a full-time job. Writing gives me joy, but my joy comes second to my children’s most of the time.
It’s easy to let our passions get put on the back burner. We are mothers, and caretakers, and we are the center of our homes. We give out our best to everyone, and keep what little is left over for ourselves.
A year ago, as I was reading the stack of farm and train books to my almost two-year-old, that he had proudly picked out for bedtime, I felt a pull to do more with my writing.
Why couldn’t I have a book on that shelf?
Well, because you aren’t a writer.
And because you know nothing about children’s literature.
And because you just aren’t good enough.
These thoughts came quick and loud.
So I decided I would start learning. I read up on publishing houses, literary agents, and writing picture books. There was a sea of information that I had no idea existed. I walked the rows at our library, studying books and noting what I liked and didn’t like. Learning how to fit in this space that so few fit in.
I started writing wherever and whenever I could. On breaks at work, or when my youngest would nap. I’d share essays on social media, and scribble thoughts of articles in a notebook, or save them to my phone. I bought a laptop that was just for my writing. And I read everything I could read, paying close attention to what made the story work — what made me want to turn the next page.
I think this new found passion made my husband and family wonder where this had come from. “You never wanted to write when you were younger,” they’d say. And they were right. Because I didn’t — until I did.
I knew I had to get out of my comfort zone and spread my wings with writing, otherwise I wouldn’t succeed. No one can read something that I don’t put out into the world.
As I was reading our local newspaper, 280 Living, I flipped to the editorial section. There were two columnists featured — a man writing on life in the South, and a woman writing about raising teenage girls. But that was all. Nothing that resembled the life that I was leading, with two small boys, in the trenches of early motherhood.
I typed up an email, asking the editor to take a chance on me. I told her that I could reach a whole group of readers like me. I attached a sample of my writing, and hoped she wouldn’t notice my lack of experience.
And I hovered over the send button.
What am I doing?
There is no way this editor is even going to read my email.
The other columnists are authors. They have written actual books. Real ones.
But I hit send anyway. I said a prayer and pushed the button and it was done. I couldn’t take it back now, so I waited, and hoped she would at least reach out to say “No thanks!” instead of leaving me to wonder.
The next day, she emailed me saying I was exactly what they needed.
Me? You need my words?
I couldn’t contain my excitement. Someone actually wanted to hear what I had to say! It was such a huge first step for me. My words, in print, out in the world.
I haven’t published any books… yet. And I can’t call myself an author yet.
But … I am a writer. I am good enough. We all are, we just need to take a deep breath and press send. You never know what will be waiting for you out there.
Thank you Leah Eagle and 280 Living. It’s been a privilege to be featured here for a full year.
Alana is a nurse anesthetist, writer and boy mom (ages 7 and 2), who lives in north Shelby County with her husband, kids and Boxer, Sam. When she’s not writing or chasing little humans, she can usually be found in the aisles of Target. She shares her writings at Holy Moly Motherhood (on Facebook and Instagram), where she takes on all things motherhood and marriage.
