My first book was about rainbows.
I was somewhere around six or seven years old and I dictated my story about a young girl learning the different colors of the rainbow to my dad. He then printed out the pages. I drew stick figure characters and a vibrant rainbow, before binding it with staples. With my finished product in my hands, I felt like the next New York Times best-selling author.
Once I knew how to write on my own, I used the back of scrap paper to create many more books—some of which I still have in my possession today. I was so proud of my work that I constantly pestered my mother to reach out to a publishing company to see if they would sell my books. Eventually she broke down and I watched with heated anticipation as she thumbed through the yellow pages (yes, I’m that old) and dialed up a publisher. She had a quick chat, but to my dismay, they weren’t looking for books written by a ten year old. I, however, knew I was amazing and so I shrugged it off and considered it their loss. Eventually, many years down the road, I realized my mother must have called something like the weather forecast number or Moviefone, but I still love her for playing along nonetheless.
One would think this over abundance of confidence would carve a clear path for me going forward. That I would continue to hone my craft, writing in my spare time, and eventually going to college for a degree in English literature. However, puberty sucks.
In elementary school, I was an effervescent showoff that was, quite frankly, kind of obnoxious. I’m glad I’m less annoying now, but instead of just dulling my attitude, the social hell of middle school—mixed with the ravages of puberty—destroyed the enthusiastic writer within me.
I continued to write, but only for myself. I had no aspirations to do anything with the hobby. In fact, I had no trajectory at all. By the time, I clawed my way out of the pits of middle school and entered into a slightly happier high school existence, I was at a complete loss as to what I would do with my life. Unfortunately, my county’s school system was no help. They pressured me into figuring out what my purpose was by the age of fourteen so I could know exactly what AP courses to take. Because as lost as I was, I was still an exceptional student and they wanted to wring out as many stellar AP test scores as they could out of me.
Well, I knew I liked playing video games so that’s where I directed myself. For whatever reason writing never even crossed my mind. Not even when I won a national writing award in my senior year—which, in turn, cemented my chances for a full scholarship—did I consider writing as an option for me. After all, writing was a difficult career to succeed in and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone by being a starving artist. So off to college I went with only a fraction of the enthusiasm that little girl writing about rainbows had.
Now I wouldn’t trade my college experience for the world. Some of the best years of my life were in college and the friends I made along the way are more valuable than gold—especially considering my husband was one of those people. That being said, I was miserable. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on why I was unhappy, but I knew I was in a deep, dark depression with no way out. Thankfully, college is a world full of discovery and there were two key moments that finally shined a bright spotlight on where my heart was leading me.
The first was a simple conversation with a friend at one of the many clubs I was involved in. I’m sure the discussion we had that day fell out of his head an hour later, but it changed the course of my life. Here we were, about to watch a selection of films on a Friday night, and he was in the back on his laptop doing some programming. I voiced my sympathy that he had so much classwork to do that he couldn’t just sit back and enjoy, but my remark was met with a look of pure confusion. His response was that he wasn’t doing an assignment, this was just something he was doing for himself. When I inquired further, he explained he loves programming and he doesn’t need to be in class to do it. Why else would he be pursuing this degree, after all, if he didn’t enjoy doing it in his spare time?
That hit me like a brick. I had to force myself to even do class assignments, much less work on a project outside of class. I wished him luck on his endeavors, sat down, and then missed the show because all I could think about was how screwed I was.
Once the panic subsided though, I asked myself, “If this isn’t what I do in my free time, what is?”
I didn’t have a solid answer to that question until the next turning point in my life. At the time, I was taking English lit and writing courses as my electives—that should have been a clue, but when you are deep in depression, it can be hard to see clearly. For one of my literature classes, I had written an essay about the book we were reading and my professor read it aloud to the class because she liked it so much. Now I, who has a social anxiety disorder, was utterly mortified and sank as far as I could into my seat. However, I forgave this professor completely because what happened after class changed my life.
I was the last to leave and she pulled me aside to make sure she hadn’t gone too far by reading my essay to everyone. I mumbled that it was okay and that I was glad she liked it. She then pulled out a pamphlet and told me that she was aware my major was already decided, but thought I might consider getting a minor in writing. She showed the coursework that would be needed on the pamphlet and then sent me on my way. By the time I made the trip from my class to my dorm, I realized how thick I was to have missed the obvious—I wanted to be a writer, I have always wanted to be a writer.
Cue mental breakdown and identity crisis.
Thankfully, my school included free counseling services to students and I had an amazing support group of friends and family that pulled me out of the mental mire I found myself in. My parents told me they would support my transition to a different major if I wanted to, but I decided to finish out my Visual Arts degree. I was halfway through the program and I would lose my full scholarship if I changed to a major outside of the visual and performing arts. Plus, like I said, I had made some amazing friends and I wanted to see this through with them. It all felt easier knowing that this was not my destination, just a path along the way.
I graduated and moved in with my then-boyfriend/future-husband who said he’d support me financially as I pursued writing. Despite that, I still took on a part-time retail job and even spent a year in the video game industry because writing without any sort of impact is hard.
For several years, I struggled with finding myself as an author. It became exponentially harder to get the creative juices flowing when I started viewing my work as a business. At the time, I thought I’d have to snag an agent and I would be constantly asking myself, “Is this something an agent would be looking for? Is this something marketable?” Constantly considering the expectations of others, particularly nonexistent others who had never expressed to me what their expectations were, killed my creativity.
Thankfully, I was writing at the advent of Kindle publishing and once I shifted my focus to being independent, things went easier. I wrote three sci-fi novels and an urban fantasy. They, however, were still stilted by expectations. I knew in my heart what kind of books I wanted to write, but as a shy nerd, I thought the people around me would expect genres like sci-fi and fantasy. Not to say I don’t love those genres! I do. However, I was limiting myself in what I really wanted to do—romance.
As the years went on and I got further and further away from the social trauma I suffered in school, I regained some confidence. About five years after my initial journey into writing, I decided to bury my first pen name. I knew it didn’t reflect who I was and I needed to free myself of that identity. I scrubbed the internet (as well as anyone can at least) of my first pen name and knew that this time I would be doing things my way. I was going to be writing romance and I wouldn’t be ashamed of it.
Starting from scratch was liberating and I felt like I could take on the world. However, the universe told me to slow down a bit because shortly after this transformation, I found out I was pregnant.
Now whether pregnancy brain is a real thing or not is up for scientific debate, however, hormones are crazy and I could not think straight. Once the baby arrived, I was hit hard with Postpartum Depression which, as you can guess, didn’t help with my writing. As we took steps to improve my mental health, I decided to try building myself back up by writing 1,000 words a day. However, I needed some accountability. I’ve never been good at keeping myself in line and so I looked for a tangible way to display my progress.
Cue Wattpad.
In October of 2016, I joined Wattpad using a joke name I had suggested for our baby back when I was pregnant: Sylvia N. Gould. (Silver and gold, get it? I think I’m hilarious.) Anyway, I started off with a doomed reverse harem. It was overly ambitious and I’ll likely never get back to it, though it still remains on my profile because I think it’s important not to delete your work. And before you ask, yes I still have all the drafts of the books under my first pen name, it just isn’t public anymore.
With that initial story just not gelling with me, I decided to move to a different project bubbling inside my head. It was a cheesy concept that felt pretty ridiculous at the time, but I was really feeling moved to write it and it wasn’t like anyone was going to actually read it. So in early November I began work on a Christmas romantic comedy called The Mrs. Claus Affair. My goal was to finish it just in time for Christmas. To write a novel in only two months was an absurd challenge at the time, but that confidence from my early years was returning and I was determined to finish it. And finish it I did. I rejoiced in my victory even though I had next to no readers. It didn’t matter to me. I was writing again and for maybe the first time in my adult life, I was writing what I wanted.
I went on to write five more stories in the course of a year. They weren’t necessarily good, and I didn’t really have readers, but I was finally doing what I always wanted to do. I was writing for the love of it and the words just kept flowing.
Then, a year after I first published The Mrs. Claus Affair, I reached 1,000 views. I was thrilled. What a great Christmas gift! But then a week after that I received a message in my inbox. Somehow Wattpad noticed my tiny story and decided to feature it in a special holidays reading list. My views and votes skyrocketed. Sure, they were still a drop in the bucket compared to the real heavy hitters on Wattpad, but for me it was amazing.
From there things began to happen for my silly little story. I was going to be writing a sequel and to make the titles play off of each other, I changed the name to Finding Mrs. Claus with the sequel set to be called Wedding Mrs. Claus. Around that time, I decided to go to Wattcon which was held in New York City. It wasn’t far from where I lived and I had always wanted to go to a writing centric convention. Before the trip, they sent out a chance to take part in a pitch session at Wattcon. To be selected, you needed to win them over with a killer logline for your story. I submitted Finding Mrs. Claus with zero expectations.
Days before Wattcon I found out I was one of the few selected to take part in the pitch. I was floored.
I once again went in with no expectations and a whole lot of nerves. I did my pitch and the very kind folks listening to it seemed to enjoy it. I survived and my confidence took another boost.
About a year and a half after that, I was invited to join the Stars program. A few weeks after that, I was asked to have Finding Mrs. Claus join the Paid Stories program. By the end of 2020, Finding Mrs. Claus was published through Wattpad Paid Stories as A Bachelor for Christmas. Now it’s so very, very close to passing the 100k views threshold, a milestone I never thought I would reach. I’m also on the brink of 1,000 followers and I have 11 completed stories available on Wattpad. At the end of last year, one of my novels, Falling for a Memory, won a Watty Award and has recently joined the Paid Stories program. On August 31, 2022, A Groom for Christmas—the renamed sequel to A Bachelor for Christmas—joined the Paid Stories program as well.
All of this is to say that though I’m still a small fish in a very big ocean, I’m growing and growing each day. I know it can feel daunting, looking out over the waters and seeing how far you’ll have to swim. I also know how overwhelming it is to think you might need three decades to make even a tiny dent in the writing world like it did for me, but everyone’s journey is different. Some people have lightning strike overnight and some, like me, take it slow and steady. What’s important to note, though, is that a perceived failure is not the end of the road. It sure can feel like it. Trust me, I have sat in that ditch and given up many times. However, there’s always somewhere to go if you’re willing to traverse the distance.
So keep writing, and writing, and writing some more. Write like no one is reading. It may be hard, it may seem counter productive when all you want is for your voice to be heard, but the more you write, the more chances you have for the lightning to strike. So send your words out into the void, even if you think no one’s there. One day, when you least expect it, someone will hear you.
Thank you so much for this insight into your life, Sylvia. It is certainly something I never expected to hear. You’re one of those people who have always been an inspiration to me.
I have read several of Sylvia’s books; I’m actually her fan. I found her on Wattpad through her Christmas story, “Her Christmas Legacy”, which I really liked. I started reading her other stories from there on.
I have interacted with her several times and she has always been kind and nice to me. She is a great person to have a conversation with, one can always enjoy talking to her. She has a few books published on Amazon and others as Paid Stories on Wattpad.
Follow Sylvia’s writing journey on Twitter, and Instagram. She also has a website you should pay a visit.
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