My Writing Journey, by Shanora Williams

by Shanora Williams

I first want to start by saying that I often forget to sit and think about my writing journey. I’m so used to doing the next thing, or getting sucked into the next story, that I don’t really take quiet moments to acknowledge my accomplishments.

I suppose this is a good place to start.

It goes without saying these days that if you’re an author, you most likely grew up an avid reader. I genuinely believe you can’t be an author without being a reader first. I can’t remember a time when I was younger that I didn’t have a book near me. Even now, I’ll always have a book closeby, whether it’s physical or on my phone/kindle. 

It’s gotten to the point where there are books stashed under the seats of my car and in that little weird gap under the middle console in the front. It’s like a little library in my vehicle, and my husband laughs about it because he knows all I have to do is reach down and take my pick.

Reading and writing is all I’ve ever known. When I think about my life thus far, I feel I don’t belong in any other place than at my desk, working on the next piece of fiction. I’m fortunate that I get to do this for a living, but I will be the first to tell you that this career did not come easy to me. Toss in the fact that I’m a Black woman in a predominantly White industry and, well… the odds are truly stacked against me.

But let me start with my childhood–back when I realized that I might actually be good at this writer thing. Back when I became invested in the written word and didn’t even realize how much I loved it until it was pointed out to me.

My grandmother was a teacher. She lived during the civil rights movement and had witnessed some of Martin Luther King’s speeches. She lived during a time when Black people were oppressed–when she and her siblings would have to fight their way through the day because they were constantly being called racist slurs. She loved learning and school, but she disliked that there was never any peace when it came to her education. All she wanted to do was learn.

I tell you that story because when it came to her grandchildren, my grandma refused to let us grow up without being properly educated, well read, or well spoken. We were the kind of kids who had to read a book every day over the summer, and then do math worksheets afterward. Was it annoying sometimes when all you care about as a kid is, well, being a kid? Yes. But when I look back at it now, I’m grateful for her doing this. We were privileged to go to school without being harassed or degraded by our peers. I didn’t think about it that way at the time because I was young and naive, but now it really clicks in place so I’m thankful.

Another perk about my grandma is that she lived only ten minutes away from the library in our small town of Matthews, North Carolina. When she’d had enough of us over the summer (because let’s face it, kids and teenagers are exhausting), she would tell us to go as a group to the library. I would walk with my siblings and my cousins, so there were about five or six of us each time (I have a huge family). Back then, it was pretty normal for kids to just wander about because everyone knew everyone. 

My siblings and cousins loved going on these little adventures because they knew they could also stop by the corner store for candy, or the KFC that had staff who became so familiar with us that they started giving us free chicken sandwiches. Man, I miss that KFC.

Anyway, while they were all excited for candy and chicken sandwiches, I was invested in the library. They’d all get mad at me because I wanted to linger and browse, or to read the blurbs on the backs of the books, or to start reading the first page. They weren’t big readers but I was.

My grandma would send us to the library to pick any book we wanted and we’d have to read it throughout the week and then write a short essay about the book and what we took from it. Again, my siblings and cousins hated this. But I loved it! You mean, I get to tell you all about the princess who ran away and had to face a bunch of evil guys and comes across this magical creature who helps her reach her dream destination? Uh, yes! I’ll write that!

I believe this sort of led me into dissecting books, understanding that all authors have their own style of writing, and that I could develop my own one day.

Eventually, I grew up and started working on my first self-published novel at that same library. I still go there from time to time because my grandma still lives in that same house. That library was a safe space that I’ll never forget, and it played such a huge role in my writing journey.

When I reached 7th grade, my eyes opened a bit wider. We had to write a story about something– I can’t remember what exactly. All I know is that I did the assignment, and my teacher pulled me aside a few days later and asked if someone else had helped me write the paper–an adult or older friend. She didn’t mean it in a condescending or rude way. She was genuinely curious. I looked at her puzzled and said “… No. I wrote it.” She was surprised and told me right there that I had a gift and could go very far with it. 

At the time, I considered that just another assignment to get out of the way. But the fact that I remembered it afterward clearly resonated with me and I’ve clung to it for years. I’m a true believer that teachers can play a pivotal role in our lives. I’ll never forget her telling me that. (Thank you, Ms. Wade!)

I kept writing thereafter. Short stories. Poems. Even song lyrics here and there.

Then I became a bit bolder and started writing my first book. That book hasn’t seen the light of day. It’s hidden in my files somewhere and buried deep because it was so awful, but it was a masterpiece to me at the time and pushed me to self-publish my first book. 

And then the next

And then the next. 

And then I turned nineteen and hit the New York Times and USA Today bestseller list. Don’t ask me how. I really don’t know. I like to think it was timing, luck, and a whole lot of grit.

I received my first royalty check a few months after that release (a pretty hefty one), quit my job at the retail store I worked at (I disliked my misogynistic manager very much so I was pleased to tell him goodbye with a middle finger and a smile) and I eventually moved into my own apartment, where I started writing full time. It was so freeing. I’d stay up until three or four in the morning writing. It was exciting and I felt so very blessed to be able to do so. I knew my royalty check wouldn’t last forever, so I kept going.

This might all sound great and it may seem like I didn’t have any struggles to reach that point or even where I am now, but there were many ups and downs. Some seasons were hydrated while others felt like a drought. Sometimes I was killing it, and other times, it was drowning me. So much had changed too, so I couldn’t be that girl who loved staying up until three or four in the morning. I struggled with my mental health. Became a wife. A mother. My time as an author was almost cut in half. In between that, I faced rejections from agents, publishers, editors–you name it. There have been times when I wanted to quit because I wasn’t sure if my books would find their audience. Oh–and I’ll never forget when an agent ghosted me. That one stung.

But I didn’t give up. I might’ve cried, but giving up was out of the question. I tend to be stubborn about a lot of things, and my dreams are one of them. No matter how many rejections I faced, or how negative some of the reviews were, or how many people declined because they didn’t understand my voice, I kept going. Why? Because I’ve always wanted to be an author. I’m now living that dream and I get to wake up every day, look at myself in the mirror, and know that all the hard work, late nights, tears, and sacrifices I’ve made weren’t for nothing.

I’m able to pay my bills, take care of my family, and give back to communities in need because of this career. That’s not an easy thing to do, yet I’m doing it because I show up every day, roll my sleeves up, and push through.

It may seem like I have it all together from the outside looking in, but I promise you I don’t. I’m still learning. Still developing. Still embracing my voice. I still get rejected for things. And every day someone says they hated one of my books. Meh. It is what it is. Can’t please everyone.

The main thing that keeps me going is focusing on the next story. Writing anchors me in the best ways because it consumes me. I like to think those moments of being so completely invested in my characters and the world I’m building is what keeps me inspired. So I suppose I don’t sit and think too much about the past or my journey, because I’m always looking for ways to enhance the books I can put out in the future. I’m always looking for ways to improve my craft.

If there’s one piece of advice I can give, it’s to always believe in yourself.

Even when it’s hard. 

Even when you’re on the verge of giving up.

Even while oppressed.

Even when people tell you that you’ll never become a successful author because it’s too hard to tap into the industry. Always believe. 

I’m hard on myself, but I’m also my biggest cheerleader. I’ve never told myself I can’t do something. If there’s a will, there’s a way. And what’s yours will always be meant for you.

Thank you so much for reading!

—

Shanora Williams is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty romance and diverse suspense novels. She lives near Charlotte, North Carolina with her husband and three boys and is a sister to eleven. When she isn’t writing, she’s spending time with her family, binge reading, or running marathons on TV streaming services.

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Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing