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Confessions of a Debut Author
Becoming a debut author has turned out to be one of the wildest adventures I’ve ever embarked on—more than taking a year to travel solo, more than moving to Kurdistan.
My last post on here was about my post-publication blues, which I’m still struggling with on a daily basis, but more or less managing to keep at bay.
Friends and family have been incredibly supportive during this time—bringing flowers on my first events, to texts to check in on how my daily author grind is going.
But even with receiving extensive words of encouragement and support for my moments of doubt, it wasn’t until I came across this writing prompt online that I began to see my feelings and situation in a different way.
'Write About One Way Your Life is Blossoming Right Now.'
Of course, this prompt immediately got me thinking of flowers in spring.
I started to think of all kinds of flowers blooming—tulips being my favorite.
I then look up the definitions of blossom and bloom (I’m the kind of writer that is always looking for interesting analogies and double-meanings), which then led me to the following definition of the noun ‘bloom’:
It’s from this idea that I wrote my letter (that I decided to publish here) about how rather than the colorful and delicate blossoms, I prefer to bloom like metal as I’ve transitioned to become a debut author.
How a Debut Author Blooms
Delicate rose petals unfurling.
The endless layers of a dahlia unfolding.
The stiff colorful ends of a tulip, opening toward the sky.
These images come to mind when I think of the word ‘bloom’.
But our world is not so simple. Some words have multiple meanings.
Bark—the protective barrier to a tree’s interior—can also mean the cry of a dog in anger or fear.
Crane—a long-legged bird that wades in shallow waters—the same word used for the heavy machinery used to build up our city skylines.
Today I learned a new meaning for ‘bloom’: a spongy mass of molten iron and slag, an intermediate product in the refining process used to make tools, weapons, armor, or construction materials.
This past march marked my 31 years on this planet. Before this milestone, I published my debut travel memoir—a book about self-discovery, adventure, and learning to trust in the love of strangers and the uncertainty of the future.
Friends and family can’t shut up about how proud they are of me for attaining this feat. I’ve received flowers to congratulate me, words of confirmation that I am a successful and talented writer.
After spending years curating a beautiful narrative of travel that has now come to completion—the book has bloomed like a flower in spring. But my current inner state is more like an intermediate product—waiting to be refined.
I know writing and publishing a book should feel monumental. But now that I’ve reached this point, I wonder if my greatest point lies ahead. I don’t know at what point I will feel like a fully blossomed flower, I just know that it hasn’t happened yet.
It would be beautiful to identify as a blossoming bloom—the pinnacle point of the beauty of the flower. But, after the bloom, the flower begins the senescence phase, wherein the petals begin to wilt and fade in color, and the cells of the stem begin to break down.
I’m not ready to decompose.
My peak is yet to come.
What if instead of a blooming rose, I was the iron bloom being refined into a sturdy shield that can protect our loved ones or a sword that fights for justice?
The sword and shield may succumb to rust and wear, but their metal can be buffed, refined, or reworked into fresh forms. Being in the intermediate state of the blacksmithing process seems like a much more appealing way to bloom than a flower doomed for senescence.
I am not like the rose, fragile to the elements, destined to decompose into the earth.
I see myself as the muddled messy bloom of iron—red-hot and molten—ready to be shaped and sharpened into a sword.
I may still be in the process of refinement, but I aspire to be that hunk of fiery metal.
I want a legacy like the sword that has fought on battlefields. I want to be the protective, impenetrable shield to the people I love. I will continually reshape and remold myself, even after hardships and challenges batter and scuff me.
Forged from the hunk of burning metal.
I will become the glittering lightweight saber.
Reworked into a thick and expansive pavise.
Or an intricate lattice of chain mail effective against the sharpest sword.
This is how I am blooming.
You Are Blooming Too
I believe that we are all constantly in a state of change—there is always some internal work going on—pushing us further toward the best version of ourselves. For me recently, this has been moving from being just a writer to a debut author, and the best part is I can’t promise what will be coming next.
Sometimes, though, it takes a little courage to push ourselves through to this point of change…
That’s what I write about in my book, One Year and a One-Way Ticket.
If you’re looking for the inspiration to pursue your passion, your bliss, whatever lights up your soul, then this is the story you’ve been waiting for.
P.S.
I love sending signed copies. Email directly at danika@danikaduartesmith.com to see if I can make that magic happen!
