THE UNUSUAL PATH OF A FIRST TIME AUTHOR by Christina Ford

THE UNUSUAL PATH OF A FIRST TIME AUTHOR by Christina Ford

It’s interesting in life how many times we reinvent. Science tells us our bodies are cellular different every seven years. So, in essence, a new you. We’ve often had several careers, and don’t get me started on the vast array of “loves of my life” I have fallen in and out of love with. I’ve had many, many lives, and every one of them was extraordinary, varied and ripe with lessons.

In my twenties, I started my career in the glitzy cosmetic retail industry. Then I spent over a quarter century deep in the world of advertising and production. Hell, I even produced a feature film that opened TIFF. I moved countries and pretty much shed most of the labels that defined who I was to the world and, truthfully, to me as well. This isn’t some sort of right-to-brag CV but rather an introduction to my thinking that anything is possible when no one tells you no.

So, here I am, reinventing…again— embarking on the unusual path of a first time author with my book, In Search of Mr Darcy: Lessons Learnt In The Pursuit of Happily Ever After. When I sat down to write my book, a talent that had not publicly been acknowledged since Miss Bonvalane, my grade two teacher, accused me of plagiarising my extraordinary poem about the joy of hotdog buns. I had absolutely zero, and I do mean zero notion that this was something I could/should/would do, much have the talent for. I had effectively spent my career managing other people’s creative talents but never my own. I didn’t know I had any.

So I began to write, never once thinking this was an outrageous, insane idea. Why? Because I didn’t ask anyone’s opinion. I didn’t seek approval from my friends or family, I just started writing. But what I began to write was very different from what I finished. But isn’t that the glorious thing about creating something? It tells you what it needs to be. Living alone in the height of Covid, I immersed myself in the writing process.

My routine was up early, and anyone who knows me can attest that that alone was a personal breakthrough. With a latte in hand, I’d write. When I wasn’t writing, I was listening to podcasts, audiobooks or Masterclasses about writing. I did nothing else for the better part of two years. I was afraid to stop. Terrified that if I did anything else, I’d not be able to start again. And you know what?That’s precisely what happened. 

During this time, with probably 80,000 words behind me, I flew back to Toronto and moved into my parents apartment that they had sadly vacated with their deaths. There, I was quarantined, with friends bringing me groceries, Starbucks and wine, too afraid to come in, so they’d leave it outside my window. The fear was thick and contagious as I found myself extremely anxious, standing barefoot, toes in the grass, just to remind myself it was summer. 

Maybe it was the Canadian anxiety, far more acute than London, or perhaps it was sitting with the ghosts of my parents surrounded by dusty Tupperware boxes filled with decades worth of memories. But not only could I not write, I could not bare to look at a single word I had written. I was paralysed. This didn’t end when I got out of quarantine… or hugged people… or even went back to London. This went on for five months, me unable to look at one single word that I had written.

Then I did something insane, I started talking to my dead parents, and Nora Ephron… and Jane Austen, AND to any other writer who would pop into my consciousness. I didn’t ask them for help. I thanked them for their help. I thanked them for their words, their stories, and their inspiration.

Sometimes these conservations went on for hours as I visualised myself ripping open a cardboard box with my finished hardcover books packed inside. I saw myself in a red dress in a crowded bookstore joyously signing copies for eager readers. I could see the end, I just had to get past the middle. So I threw some money at the problem. A suggestion I’m pretty sure came one night from my dead father, pragmatic, even in his afterlife. I booked a five-day online nonfiction course. I knew enough of my nature that if I put cash down, I’d show up. And show up I did. 

In that course, an editor took me aside and said, “Christina, when you are ready, bring me your manuscript. Bring it directly to me”. And the rest, they say, is history. I finished and sold my book and I’m super chuff of this accomplishment. But if I took anything from this it was don’t ask permission to do something completely insane, even from yourself.

I never heard no, mostly because I never asked the questions. Should I write a book? Start a production company? Produce a film? Am I good enough? Am I too young? Am I too old?  Will anyone like it? I wrote it because it needed to come out, and I got out of my own way and let it happen. 

So call upon those inspiring spirits who give you permission, and thank them. Visualise the ending even if you can’t quite see the path. No is not the answer to all those unasked questions. Those treasures buried deep inside of you are hoping you’ll say yes. 

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In Search of Mr Darcy by Christina Ford is out now (Icon Books), hardback: £16.99.

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Christina Ford is a former TV and film executive who crossed continents to be with a man – and you can guess how that turned out. She lives in London and documents her life in her blog A Broad in London. This is her first book.

https://a-broad-in-london.com/

Insta https://www.instagram.com/abroad.inlondon/

In Search of Mr Darcy: Lessons Learnt in the Pursuit of Happily Ever After

A 21st-century Nora Ephron’ Stephen May
‘Witty, hilarious at times, poignant’ Alyson Feltes, writer, Ozark

PRINCE CHARMING? HAPPILY EVER AFTER? CHILDHOOD FAIRY TALES ARE FULL OF PROMISES, BUT THE REALITY – LIFE – IS A VERY DIFFERENT STORY. AND THAT STORY HAS A HELL OF A LOT TO TEACH US.

Writing with searing honesty, wry humour and endless warmth, Christina Ford takes us on a real-life Sex and the City-like journey as she looks back on four decades of dates, loves, marriages, friends, frenemies, affairs, divorces, parenting disasters and step-parenting nightmares. Bravely and candidly, she shares heartrending details of the betrayal and hurt caused by the end of her marriage, shows how she overcame her fears about starting again and lets us in on the secret of the perfectly timed fling that was more effective than years of therapy. Together, these intimate insights show exactly how such experiences and their lessons came to define the woman she is today.

In Search of Mr Darcy is for anyone who has ever wondered if there is life after divorce, if there is sex after 40, or if they will ever find love again. Hearts get broken, and even life’s best-planned journeys can drop you somewhere unexpected, leading you to ask yourself, ‘How did I get here? And, more importantly, who can I blame?’ But Christina Ford is here to tell you that is exactly where the real adventure begins.

This book will help you redefine love, womanhood, and what it means to come of age … middle age.

BUY HERE

 

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing