The Day I Realized I Was a Writer (And the Years It Took Me to Believe It)

I was a junior in high school when I wrote a short story for English class about how Grants Pass got its name.

This was before the internet and easy research. So, I made up an elaborate story about how Ulysses S. Grant was visiting the Pacific Northwest and his stagecoach decided to pass by our small town and visit the more popular Jacksonville, Oregon instead.

My teacher laughed. Encouraged me. Gave me an A.

Students read it. Patted me on the back. All the things that make a high school kid feel like maybe he is good at something. I realized I had the gift of storytelling. Then I went into marketing instead.

The Novel That Almost Was

Fast forward to 2016. I was an adult. Living with someone who was in an MFA Creative Writing Program at a major university. A far more talented wordsmith than I will ever be.

She worked for years on her writing. I helped her get through college. Supported her. Believed in her.

One day, after a bunch of submissions, she got an editor. The editor called. My significant other asked me if I would listen in on the call as a sounding board. I did. The woman was excited about the work. Convinced she could get her published. I was jazzed. So excited for her after all those years. The editor hung up with the plan of reconnecting in a couple of weeks to keep marching forward with the idea of finding a publisher.

My ex never returned her call. She walked away from it all. I was incredulous. Shocked.

How lucky and fortunate she was. How talented. More than me. And how could she not return the call? Press forward? You are getting to do what you always wanted to do.

I could not understand it.

What the F, I'll Write My Own

Indie publishing was starting to become more prevalent. I looked at it. Looked at her untouched manuscript. Looked at the opportunity she had walked away from.

And I said what the fuck. I sat down and started writing my own novel. I thought, well hell, you can make shit up. You love creating stories. Write a book. So I did.

I created Mitch Wilde. A photographer living in the small town of Rogue River, nestled on the banks of the river with the same name. Near where I grew up. I loved The X-Files at the time. The mysteries of the paranormal. UFOs. The outdoors. The wilds of the Pacific Northwest. I created The Outlaw River Wilde. Which later, in the second edition, became The Rogue River Incident. That became a duology. Book two followed Mitch Wilde's story.

Then I moved on. Created new characters. Different stories. All set in Southern Oregon. All with pieces of me woven in somehow.

The Confession

Years later, after I had left my ex in divorce, I was sitting with my adult son. An amazing, talented actor. Again, way more raw talent than me. He asked, "Dad, can I tell you something? But I don't want you to get mad."

Of course I told him yes.

He said, "Mom and I are jealous of you."

I laughed. Surprised. Because of their supreme talent.

"Why?" I asked.

He said, "Because you decided to write a novel and just did it. You say you are going to do something and you just do it. That is why we are jealous."

It made me feel good and sad at the same time. He has way more talent than me. His mother is a better writer than I will ever be. But I guess I have the Angela Duckworth-Grit.

Nothing risked, nothing gained is my motto.

Where the Grit Came From

I know it stems from a childhood and young adulthood of being afraid to try things.

The Air Force helped me with that. Forced me. In order to do my job, I had to take risks.

It made me a better Air Force photographer. And it gave me the opportunity to try things I never would have done previously. Like writing a novel. Five novels later, with my sixth novel set to release on June 26 of this year, I am still here. Still writing. Still creating characters in Southern Oregon. Still making shit up. Still telling stories.

What I Learned

Talent is great. Talent is a gift. But talent without action is just potential that never gets realized. My ex had the talent. The education. The editor. The opportunity.

And she walked away. My son has the talent. The raw ability. The training.

But sometimes, talent is not enough. You have to be willing to risk. To fail. To look stupid. To put your work out there and let people judge it. I am hopeful they'll both find their own grit someday.

You have to be willing to sit down and do the thing even when you are not sure you can.

That is what the Air Force taught me. That is what a childhood of fear and failure taught me.

That trying and failing is better than never trying at all. I am not the most talented writer. I am not the best wordsmith. But I am stubborn. And maybe a little too dumb to know when to quit.

Why I Keep Writing

I am not writing to be the best. I am not trying to win awards or impress MFA programs.

I am writing because I love telling stories. Because I love creating characters and worlds and mysteries. Because I said I was going to write a novel and I did. And then I wrote another one. And another one.

My writing is getting better the more I do it. Gladwell's 10,000 hours, right?

I am intertwining life experiences, lessons learned, missed opportunities, relationships, growth, failures, successes. All of that which hopefully gives a level of authenticity to my characters.

I have a backpack full of ideas. And all the life lessons behind me that can now become stories.

Total fun.

Nothing Risked, Nothing Gained

If you are sitting on something you want to do, waiting for permission or the perfect moment or the confidence to believe you can, let me tell you something.

You do not need to be the most talented.

You do not need a special degree, or an editor or anyone's approval.

You just need to start. Decide to do the thing. Then do it.

Risk failing. Risk finding out you are not as good as you thought you were. Because the only real failure is never trying at all. Risk takers may look foolish at times, but everyone envies them at some level for their courage. Embrace Lee Ann Womack's Dance.

My ex had everything and walked away. I hope she is still writing. I hope she gets the courage to publish someday. I will be the first in line to buy her books. But I could not wait for her to be ready. I had to be ready for myself. So I started. And I am still dancing.

All six of my Southern Oregon mysteries are available now at mikewaltersnovels.com. If you like stories about flawed characters trying to figure it out in the Pacific Northwest, written by a stubborn guy who decided to just start, I hope you give them a shot. Book six releases June 26.