“The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity.”
~ Amelia Earhart
It’s November. Time to go inward, to reflect…
I embarked on this new writing career a year ago—I haven’t looked back.
Parts of this year have lasted for a couple years. Parts never began. But thankfully, parts have held onto joy, no matter what.
I am thankful for the love and support of my children, as I embark on a new career. How many hours have they spent teaching and reteaching me how to use social media, graphics programs, and my new best friend, Alexa? They’ve stuck with me. They have assisted with edits, formatting, repeating again and again, “You got this Mom. Stick with it!”
I was blessed with my first grandchild. He is the love of my life. He is just now learning how to try. He tries. He fails. He tries again. His trying is just lifting his head up during tummy time. I root for him. It’s not lost on me how he’s helping me keep my head up, too.
Writers, for the most part, work alone. We fuss and fret over our characters, our plots, the conflict, the resolution, while staring at a computer screen or note pad, reliving the plots again and again. I train myself to a single-pointed focus, the immediate life of my characters, and I do it in solitude, but I am buttressed by a community, even when alone. This month I am giving a special thanks to my crew of other writers and friends and all the advice, support, encouragement they provide, helping me keep on.
The definition of tenacity is, “the quality or fact of continuing to exist; persistence”. Determination. This is life.
“And I’m scared, damn it.” He placed both palms on her shoulders. “Because if I touch you….if I taste you again….if I have you, I may never be able to let you go. I’m at least ten years older. I’m jaded and tarnished. I don’t deserve someone sweet and innocent. And you sure as hell deserve better than me.”
The good man, who only saw his damaged parts couldn’t recognize the value of his kindness and character. “Don’t I get to be the judge of what I need, and what I want? Why do you get to tell me no, making the choice for both of us? We’re both consenting adults. I am an adult. I’ve been deprived of my own decisions for long enough. The life I lived was far from Sunnybrook Farm. I grew up with strippers, call girls and junkies. Not to mention the bullies and thugs, con artists and thieves who populated my upbringing.”
Read the entire series…
About Bernadette Jones
Romantic Suspense Writer, Never Give Up-er,
First Wives Club-er, Lifelong Dream Achiever & Mom
Bernadette Jones has been making up stories since she learned to read on her daddy’s lap. She has imagined casts of characters everywhere she’s called home: Texas, Oregon, Washington, South Dakota, Nebraska, Illinois, Massachusetts, and now New York.
Books and music filled her life as she, her dad and two brothers traveled the country. She would sit in the back seat of the car—her older brother always got to ride shotgun—listening to the current music on the radio, looking out the window and spinning a story based on a phrase she’d heard in the lyrics. As you can imagine, traveling the country, the music changed from state to state, as did the stories. To this day, she enjoys a wide variety of music and book genres.
After a career in corporate writing, she’s decided to settle down and put pen to paper doing what she loves. Living the dream in her NYC apartment with her canine companion, she’s bringing her stories and characters to life.