By Alix Rickloff

(From the May 2005 issue of the Update.)

I should start by saying this couldn’t have happened anywhere but in a small town. I mean Norman Rockwell or Mayberry small. Kent County, MD is a rural area with more cows than people so any news is big news, and big news travels fast.

It began when a critique partner of mine organized a series of writing workshops in town. She wanted to bring together the growing community of aspiring authors and poets in the area. After renting out space in a small coffee shop on the main drag, she began advertising lectures and talks on everything from formatting your manuscript to characterization, plot elements to writing synopses. When she asked me to speak at one of the sessions, I was floored. Me? I’ve been on the listening end of plenty of lectures, but give one? What on earth could I teach someone—an unpublished author whose last foray into public speaking was twenty years ago in 4-H?

Relying on heavy doses of both flattery and guilt, she got me to reluctantly agree. Talk about what you know, she suggested. So while I struggled with putting together a coherent and compelling talk on the romance genre, she placed a small ad in our local paper advertising my lecture debut in two weeks time. Start the clock on my 15 minutes.

Just days later, my husband arrived home to inform me that his co-workers couldn’t believe his wife wrote romance novels. Does she use you for inspiration? They wanted to know. Having never actually read more than a few pages of any of my manuscripts, he couldn’t say for sure, and I wasn’t admitting to anything.

The next day, my next-door neighbor leaned across the back fence. “I hear you write books,” he said. “Are you famous or something?”

Not yet, I had to admit. But I’m trying. That seemed to satisfy him, and he went back to mowing his lawn. What was going on? Had one little ad in a paper whose circulation couldn’t be more than 3,000 people generated this much press?

The next morning, my daughter’s bus arrived to pick her up for school. She scooted in, and the driver leaned towards me. “I saw in the paper you write novels.” I could only nod, stunned. Soon, people I barely knew were asking me about my writing. I would answer, slightly embarrassed at my newfound celebrity. Yes, I write historical romances. No, I’m still unpublished, but I’m shopping my three completed manuscripts around with agents and editors. I’ve got my fingers crossed.

The lecture came and went. I got through it without embarrassing myself and actually enjoyed sharing some of what I’ve learned with others just beginning their writing careers. The questions and comments faded away. The attention came and went. But something profound happened in the meantime. Until then, I never mentioned my “other” life. Not that I hid my writing, it just never came up.

It took my 15 minutes to make me realize that not only was I a mother and wife, I was a writer. This wasn’t a hobby or a phase. This was a career. I worked at my craft with diligence and care. I attended seminars and lectures to hone my skills. I persevered through rejection letters, critique revisions, hours of research, and writers block.

I AM A WRITER.

And I can tell you for certain: when—not if—I get published, I’ll be sure to put an ad in that same paper. I’m ready for at least a half-hour of fame this time around.

~~~~~
Alix Rickloff is a member of Washington Romance Writers.  When she is not busy being a mother and wife, she writes on her historical novels.