Until my fingertips can no longer respond to the voice in my head.

It all began about a year ago. I started calling myself a writer, even though I didn’t know what I was going to write, I had a travel blog and I knew I had words within that were wanting to be freed.

I spent my time working with the idea of being a Freelance Writer, an idea I still hold on to, but in the process, I decided I should spend a month doing what I’ve always wanted to do.

What is a month in the length of life?

In July, I sat down with a rough idea and started to write. My 1500 words per day turned into 2500, which at one stage became 6000 words a day.

By the beginning of August, I had an 80,000-word manuscript that needed a lot of work.

I spent months writing, editing, and rewriting the manuscript, and then I handed my words over to a few readers. From there I spent many more hours going over the same words, with new eyes.

Last week I applied for a grant and I used the deadline as a deadline for myself. My month to write a novel had turned into five months and now I need to get a professional opinion before I invested any more time.

It may one day be published, it may not. It may one day make some money, it may not. It may one day be enjoyed by others, it may not.

But I can’t focus on the may not’s. I have succeeded. I have finished my first manuscript and I don’t want to waste my time on the may not’s. I would rather get back to writing.

Next week I'll start my second novel. I’m not sure where it will take me, but now I've started I can't stop.

I had to overcome my fear of telling people I’m a writer when I haven’t yet written anything of popular substance. I had to overcome my fear of any comments about my writing being a reflection of who I am as a person.

I had to overcome the shame of spending so much time on something that I was not earning a cent for, and find the drive to keep going when I have no guarantee of it becoming sustainable.

But I am working on something so much more important than the financial rewards, or what others think. I am finding my voice.

And I am alive. I am focused. I am free. There's no going back.

I’m a writer and I will continue to be a writer until my fingertips can no longer respond to the voice in my head.