Learning the hard way...

It seems I’ve never been one to take the easy road.

I started writing my first novel eleven years ago. It took about a year to finish—life has a way of stretching timelines—but when it was finally done, I shared it with a handful of readers. Their reactions were everything I’d hoped for. They loved it. They were excited about it. And that excitement gave me the confidence to take the next step.

The problem? I didn’t really know what I was doing.

Without any formal literary background, I edited the manuscript myself and jumped straight into submitting it for publication. Looking back, that was my first big mistake.

At the time, I hadn’t even heard of tools like Grammarly or other resources to help with grammar and punctuation. So I did things the only way I knew how—I reread the manuscript. Over and over again. Easily a hundred times. And every single pass uncovered more errors.

Eventually, I convinced myself it was as polished as I could make it. That’s when I discovered the world of querying. “Query” wasn’t even part of my vocabulary back then. So, like everything else, I researched. Then researched more. I wrote and rewrote my query letter countless times, trying to get it just right.

When I finally felt confident enough, I started sending queries.

That was my second big mistake.

I queried constantly—day and night—waiting, refreshing, hoping. Most of the time, I heard nothing at all. It got to the point where I was actually excited to receive a rejection, simply because it meant someone had responded.

Somewhere along the way, I found Grammarly. I purchased it immediately and dove back into editing—again. And again. And again. Each “final” pass revealed something new. It became a cycle: edit, revise, restart. Over and over.

At the same time, I kept refining my query letters, sending more submissions, and getting the same results—silence or rejection.

After years of frustration, discouragement, and more than a few tears, I gave up.

Well… not entirely.

I stepped away from querying and started writing other books—projects I’ve still yet to submit. But even during those breaks, something kept pulling me back. The people who had read my original manuscript never stopped encouraging me. They talked about it with genuine excitement, and that stuck with me. It made me believe that maybe—just maybe—I had something worth fighting for.

So I took a different approach.

I hired two professional editors, and the feedback I received was invaluable. But they both pointed out the same issue: I had written the story in an omniscient point of view, which isn’t widely favored in today’s market. They recommended rewriting it in the third person.

So I did.

Last year, I rewrote the entire book in third-person POV. I also reworked parts of the story and plot based on their suggestions. It wasn’t easy—but it was necessary.

This book has become my Mount Everest.

I’ve poured years into it and learned everything the hard way. Made mistakes, fixed them, and then fixed them again. But through it all, one thing has remained constant: the belief that this story matters.

Now, I’m querying again.

I know rejection is part of the process. I expect it. But this time feels different. This time, I know I’ve done everything I can to give this book the best possible chance.

And maybe—just maybe—it’s finally ready.