Staying with your story
Why you should always wear a sun hat on a rainy day
Before having kids, I never realized motherhood would be so wet. I spend my days marinating in a mixture of bodily fluids. Despite this, I’m still a total baby about running in the rain.
I’m huffing toward the trail pushing the jogging stroller, laden with my son’s snuggle blanket, snacks and toys, our water bottles and our sun hats. It doesn’t look like we’ll need those sun hats. It’s cloudy, bordering on misty. By the time we hit the trailhead, rain needles the back of my neck. I pull the generous stroller cover over my kiddo, but I have no such shelter. Should I go back home? Or head down the trail?
This tipping point moment is exactly like the one where I decided whether or not to finish the novella I spent 2024 trying to write.
I started writing The Last Chimera with delight and enthusiasm, still buzzed with the thrill of having indie published my first novella, The Declarer.
Instead of moving forward to pen the second novella in the series, I was inspired to write a prequel. Following a first story with a prequel was a risky move, but my curiosity to explore the background of a main character in the series urged me to pursue it.
Half a year later, having completed the draft, I awaited feedback from my trusted reader. While he read, I delighted in creating the cover. In a matter of days I’d be a final edit away from publication.
Unfortunately, after receiving his feedback, I considered trashing the project. That awful moment when I didn’t know whether to stuff the novella in the drawer or try to fix it was exactly like staring down the running trail in the pouring rain and wondering whether to go forward or go home.
Like all difficult moments, it taught me a thing or two. This is what I learned.
Uncertainty
I hate getting wet, but even worse is not knowing what to do—facing uncertainty.
Back on the trail. Life in California has spoiled me—when in doubt, I expect the sun to come out. That’s why I wore my sun hat even though I’d taken off running on a cloudy day. The sudden rain, was it a freak cloud, bound to stop soon? Or did going forward mean I’d get drenched?
The uncertainty is almost worse than the rain. Being in a difficult situation with two options—and not knowing which is the right path—might be cake for some people, but not me.
Uncertainty was the worst part of the novella debacle, too. Was my first reader just having a bad day? Was his disappointed reaction truly a reflection of how my overall audience would feel?
The uncertainty didn’t stop there. If I accepted that my prequel draft failed to live up to expectations set by my first published novella in the series, then what had gone wrong? The story required not an edit, but a rewrite. Did I have the skill? Could I address all the issues raised? Did I want to? Was it even worth my time? Or should I scrap the project and move on to the second book in the series?
Just like I didn’t know how long or how hard it would rain that day on the trail, I didn’t know whether to revise or abandon the novella project. Indie publishing is like that. No agent, no editor, no slush reader. I had to make the decisions and navigate the uncertainty alone. I dreaded the decision. I complained to friends and lost sleep. My wired imagination—a bonus when world building—spun endless scenarios where every move I made was the wrong one.
Back on the trail, standing with my young son in the pouring rain, I must act fast—go forward or back. Fast action requires accepting I might choose wrong. What do do? I grip the slippery handle of the jogging stroller and trudge forward.
I couldn’t have gone forward on the trail without my sun hat. I couldn’t have gone forward with the novella without my sun hat, either.
Always wear your sun hat
My sun hat is constructed from SPF 50 fabric, has an extra-long bill, and anchors to my head with bobby pins so it doesn’t fly in the creek on windy days. I never hit the trail without it, a habit I’m grateful for on that rainy day. The extra-long bill doesn’t just keep the sun off my face and eyes—it keeps the rain off, too. Without water stinging my eyes and pelting my head, I can accept the possibility of an entire run in the rain. I’m like a cat, I guess. If I’ve gotta get wet, at least let my head stay dry.
When it came to surviving that period of uncertainty and struggle with my novella, I had my sun hat, too. Some truly positive things prevented my drowning in uncertainty and sorrow.
I knew my first reader had read and loved my first novella. Complaints from someone who’d never demonstrated enthusiasm might have defeated me. But I’d written something he’d loved before, in the same world with overlapping characters. Always get feedback from someone who likes what you write much of the time, but will be honest with you when they don’t.
My first reader’s love for my first novella was half the brim of my writing sun hat. What was the other half?
My protagonist. He’d fascinated me from the moment I saw through his eyes, as he landed on top of the Library tower, and his talons bit into the brickwork.
My world. It was a place I wanted to play, and I was convinced others would want to explore with me.
Me. Everything I’ve learned as a writer and all the mistakes I’ve made in the process. As scary as the possibility of failure was, a little fire burned inside me, certain I’d pull through.
Like the long brim of my sun hat, a little confidence goes a very long way.
Shaking off the rain
On that rainy day, as I head over the bridge onto the trail, walkers laugh at me and gesture the opposite way I’m running: “Hey, shelter’s that way!”
My son complains, “Mom, dodge the rain drops!”
I just keep running. Instead of offering hoped-for cover, the forest trees sluice water and lubricate slippery fallen leaves. By the time I reach the turnaround point, there’s nothing to do but accept the rain’s not going to stop.
But then, near the bridge, the rain eases, gradually melting back into mist. My son peels back the cover on his stroller, raises his favorite toy over his head, and belts out a couple verses of Fleetwood Mac to the low clouds obscuring the mountains. Together, we arrive home, laughing, elated, soggy. We’re champions who’ve stolen victory from the jaws of defeat.
I felt the same way when I handed my revised draft back to my first reader.
I hadn’t asked him for feedback. I needed his eyes on the day before publication only to catch stray typos. The feedback came, anyway. He loved it.
The Last Chimera is now up for sale on Amazon.
I’m proud of the novella. Not just because I eventually made my number one fan happy, but because I stayed with the project through months of worry, months of uncertainty and discomfort. I kept my sun hat on tight through the rain, and emerged, dripping, bedraggled, and triumphant, with a story I adore and want to share.
Check out The Last Chimera on Amazon here!
