When I was six years old, I fell outside at recess and sprained my ankle.  I chose not to tell anyone and I walked on that sprain for two days before my mother noticed I couldn’t put my ankle down correctly.

I spent three days home from school after that.  But if you think this taught me anything about asking for help, you’d be wrong.  I still have this rather impressive block when it comes to help, asking for help, and not running in wet grass.

I might have been the person in the world who most needed a writing coach, but now we’ll never know.  I have one now.  That’s the important part.  Though, as you might have noticed from my first post on the subject, I’m not the one who reached out here.  Between the yes-feedback I’ve gotten from other people in the past and my preference for teaching myself, I’m not even sure it would have occurred to me to seek out a writing coach.

Kas warned me this was going to be one the the hardest things I would ever do as a writer.  I enjoy a difficult project here or there or always.  I said yes for the challenge that is doing better.  That’s all what I went into this wanting.  I now want so much more I’m going to have to write more blog posts about it.

I ended up spending something like eighteen hours total on “Firing Pin“.  I’m not sure what Kas clocked in at, but I thank her for every minute.  And that’s not counting the hours we’ve spent discussing the future of Jealous of Roses as a whole, not to mention deciding what exactly whole is.  

I’ve ended up answering questions about my work that I couldn’t have even thought of of before they got put to me.  I’ve rewritten things more times than I realized things could be rewritten.  You know, you hear published authors talk about their process and how much of their work is refining.  You don’t (or, I didn’t) realize what that means until it’s three in the morning and you’re slapping your hand on the keyboard hoping this will conjure the turn of phrase you want or you’re spread out on the livingroom floor with a bottle of rum absolutely unable to answer a question about the motivations of a character who I’d been writing about for years.  Also your roommate is very confused.  

And let me perfectly honest.  I’ve cried.  More than once.  I cry when I get frustrated.  If anything, I would have cried more without my writing coach.  Hell, I’d probably still be under the damn bed with with a bottle of kirschwasser.  

I am proud of my work for the first time.  I can’t put a price on that.  I can’t share the love I feel for everyone and everything knowing what I’m capable of and that someone was so willing to invest in getting me to that point even if it meant photographing notes for me.

On of the things I dearly wanted that I couldn’t seem to manage on my own was for Siebenkäs to be a bit sharper than he was in the original attempt.  I’d even made jokes about my fumble to my readers, but then went on having no concept of how to fix it.

Well, of all the things we’ve managed to improve… you know, I’m glad I have books now instead of arcs, but knowing Siebenkäs finally turned into something much closer to what I wanted after a few careful prods was the thing that drove home for me that this was working.

All in all, it’s very easy to me to lose sight of what I want out of anything.  I will write to keep from writing.  Getting thumped over the head about it has made all of the difference for me though.

And like I said, I’m proud.   Or at least I will be until I fall and sprain my ankle again.  Some things are inevitable.