In just a few days, my newest book (co-authored with Dale Wolicki) will roll off the presses. Montgomery Ward’s Mail-Order Homes will be my 7th book. Writing is tough. This most recent work represents five years of steady effort. Kit homes are something about which I’m passionate. Good thing, because the financial benefits of writing aren’t that great.

In 2003, Illinois sponsored a gala event to honor the state’s authors. It was a black-tie affair with an elegant meal served on fine china edged with gold leaf. Only 50 authors were invited to attend and thanks to my book (The Houses That Sears Built), I was one of them. It was quite an honor.

There were three speakers at the formal dinner, all of whom (unlike me)  had hit the big time with their literary works. The first speaker spoke at length about the contributions of his beloved wife.

“Without her,” he told the audience as he gazed lovingly at his gorgeous wife, “I could never have accomplished this.”

I squirmed in my chair a bit. I’d already noticed that everyone had entered the spacious hall in pairs. And I thought about how the event organizer had pleaded with me to find someone to bring along. Now I understood.

The next speaker was a woman who followed the first author’s lead, and also waxed eloquent about her husband’s specific advice and honest encouragement and how she could never have done it without him.

Third speaker. Same talk, different body. And that’s when I excused myself and went into the bathroom. I don’t like crying in public. Leaning over the glistening white sink and staring into the oversized mirror, I told myself, “When I write the book that hits the big time, and someone asks me how I did it, I am never going to say that I could not have done this without a romantic partner in my life.”

I know the speakers’ comments were innocuous and well-intended, but to the lone unattached, one-partner-shy-of-a-full-pair woman in the audience, it was a neon-sign that flashed, “Writers are without hope unless they’re in love.” My dating life and my romantic life were already in the ash heap. Was it really necessary to throw my dreams of a magnificent career onto the smoldering ruins too?

That was seven years ago. Now, I’m re-married and yes, the new husband has been an incredible blessing in my writing career. But if my newest book on Wardway Homes hits the big time, I get invited to address a large audience, I don’t think I’ll say that I never could have done it without him.

I’m just not willing to believe that there’s always a romantic partner behind every successful woman.

In 1995, I took a job as a freelance writer to help pay the bills. In 1999, I took a steady job as a writer and editor to help pay the bills. In 2002, I wrote a book on Sears Homes and worked hard to promote and sell that book. Within two weeks of that book’s publication, my marriage ended and I really needed to sell some books to help pay the bills.

From 2002 to 2010, I wrote and published another five books and wrote dozens of articles, too. You see, I really needed to make some money to help pay the bills.

Today, after much effort and consternation and fingernail nibbling, I finished writing my 7th book, tentatively titled, “The Sears Homes of Illinois.” I’m very pleased with the end result and hope and pray that my editor will be similarly pleased. Hopefully, he’ll never find out my dirty little secret.

I’m not a real writer.

I have an image that writing comes easy to real writers. When you’re a real writer, words flow effortlessly from your literary mind to your clean, pretty paper. None of this agonizing over each and every word. None of this reaching for the thesaurus because you can not recall THE perfect word that will work in that empty space in that already goofy-sounding sentence.

I write books about old houses, and I find that type of writing excruciatingly difficult. I can’t imagine trying to write a fictional account of something. I take historical facts and real-life experience and distill it down to a few thousand words. That sounds so simple and easy. But it’s not. For me.

And yet today, as I wrote the final chapter of The Sears Homes of Illinois, I had one of those delightful moments of inspiration and the words flowed and the words worked and I ended up writing five paragraphs in five hours and those five paragraphs represented some of the best writing I have ever done. When my husband came home, I made him sit down and pay attention while I read him those five paragraphs. He agreed that it was some of my best writing.

I love what Elizabeth Gilbert (a real writer) said about the creative process:  “If the divine, cockeyed genius assigned to your case decides to be glimpsed for just one moment, then ole. If not, dance anyhow. Have the sheer determination and stubbornness to keep showing up do your part anyhow.”

In my 15-year career as a writer, creating articles and books has always felt like an enormous and laborious effort, but Ms. Gilbert is right. Having the “sheer determination and stubbornness to keep showing up” represents at least 85% of the battle.

My beloved mother died the first day of 2002. And then my marriage of 24 years ended abruptly. And then two of my children moved far away. And I ended up with 50% custody of “the baby” - my then 14-year-old daughter. This all happened in the first six months of 2002. Many nights, I wondered if I’d survive all this stress and change.

One night, during this difficult time in my life, I had a dream that I was in a burned out forest. Burnt-out stubs of trees still smoldered from the intense heat of the forest fire. Charred debris and pieces of still-smoking branches littered the forest floor. It was a scene reminiscent of hell itself. In the middle of this blackened landscape, I was lying on my side in a fetal position atop an oval-shaped oasis of green, lush grass. As I rose to my feet, I saw an angel stand up with me. I saw that I’d been shielded from the awful heat and flame by the wings of this angel, carefully covering over my body, protecting me as a mother eagle protects her young. As I stood up, the angel spoke.

“Every remnant of your old life is gone,” she said. “But a new life will grow out of the very ashes of this old life. The old has been cleared away to make room for the new. This is not just an ending but a new beginning. You’re going to survive this and the second half of your life will be very, very good. Hang on. Don’t give up.”

About two years after I had this amazing dream, I finally shared it with a friend. I was visiting his town to give a talk on Sears Homes and we had dinner together at a local restaurant a couple hours before the talk. I’ll remember his response for the rest of my life.

“Soon after Mt. St. Helens erupted,” he told me, “I visited that site. It was only a few weeks after the mountainside was decimated by flowing lava and fire, but already, down in the ashes of that burned out forest, you could see thousands of tiny green sprouts poking up toward the light. The ranger told our group that the ash actually fertilizes and prepares the soil for the new crop of trees. It’s amazing how fast a burned out forest can grow again.

“When people go through an experience such as you had, where they lose everything, they either get bitter or they grow and evolve in ways they never dreamed possible. You chose to grow. You chose to follow a dream and turn your dream into a career. You’re one of the most successful people I believe I’ve ever met.”

His comments touched my heart and soul. After our talk, I walked out of the restaurant feeling about 10 feet tall and I had a new view of myself. Later that night, this good and decent man attended my lecture and when it ended, he shook my hand and said, “It was an honor to meet you. You’re a remarkable woman and I meant what I said. You’re one of the most successful people I’ve ever met.”

I wrote those words down in my journal and also put a copy of my bathroom mirror. The lovely aroma of this man’s kind words have remained with me for many years.