My Book Writing Breakthrough Moment

Oct 14
3 min read

By Sofia Ulrikson

I always knew I wanted to become the author of a novel. I just didn’t know where to start.

I was 19. I had penned countless short stories, articles, booklets, and long book drafts since learning how to read and write, but I had never completed an entire novel of my own that was ready to hit the shelves. The task scared me a little. Writing a first book is a huge undertaking, and for some reason, I thought I needed to have some perfect, worthy idea to write a solid debut.

Ideas had come to me throughout the years. Ideas I thought would become my first book but that never felt perfect enough. Ideas that were quite good, and unique, but that fell short in the face of that desire for perfection.

I did work on multiple ideas during this time. I love writing, so I still worked on stories even if none of them were debut material in my eyes.

Still, I wondered. What idea would end up becoming my first book? What idea would turn out deserving enough to become a novel I’d be proud to see published?

There was one idea. It had been occupying my mind for a while. It wasn’t superior in any real sense to the other ideas I’d had, not in concept, but it felt special, somehow. Like it had that little extra potential that the others had lacked.

An idea about a girl who starts having strange dreams about a mysterious red, wooden door…

But I did not immediately sit down. I let the idea simmer while I worked on other projects. And when inspiration struck and attached new limbs to that idea, it grew and grew and grew.

Then my partner and I broke up. We had been together for close to two years, and the change jarred me, despite the rationale behind the decision. «What now?» became the question.

This was a time to focus more on myself, he advised. To take charge of my life in a way I hadn’t dared to before.

Hadn’t dared to, not because I had been in a relationship and been dependent on another person, but because I had been too scared to take certain risks.

But now I was alone. I had only myself.

And I didn’t want to wait for perfection to strike in order to live a better life. Instead, I could lead.

I sat down one evening not long after the break-up. I knew what I’d been holding myself back on. I knew what I’d denied myself to do, out of self-doubt, out of uncertainty, out of that needless focus I’d had on finding the perfect idea in order to start.

I knew what I wanted.

So, I started writing.

It truly is a curve, learning. It bends and sinks and rises. The curve never ends if you let it grow with you, but it does halt on certain stations.