People keep asking me why I waited until my forties to publish my first book. The simplest answer is that I listened to the wrong people.
I’ve been writing since I can remember: cartoons, stories, poems, songs. My biggest dream growing up was to become a writer or a journalist. In senior high, a career advisor visiting our school told me that journalism was a dying field and that becoming a successful author wasn’t “doable”. He recommended I study psychology or something similar. Which I did.
Over the years, I still wrote whenever I could, but I didn’t get far while working full-time and studying in my off hours. I lost many precious years studying something I wasn’t really into.
In my late twenties, I was fortunate to be offered a job as a journalist. It was like a dream come true. I did it for five years, but I eventually had to quit to complete my postgraduate practical.
Another couple of years passed, and my dream of becoming a writer faded into the background. It was only when my late sister got diagnosed with cancer, and I realized how short life is, that I picked it up again. My sister encouraged me to pursue my dream, and I did. I’m just sad she never got to see the end product.
Life happens, and sometimes we lose sight of our dreams. But it’s never too late to make them a reality. It might take a few tries (or a couple of years), but don’t give up. You’ll get there. Eventually. Just keep going.
C.M. Rachels 