Oh right. I guess I’m a writer.
Depending on what year you met me, you might have already known I was a writer.
Man I’ve been overdramatic from the start
In the years 2006-2014, I made sure everyone knew it. I couldn’t meet a single person and not make it known that I, Alex Felix, wrote books. It was my entire personality. I loved to talk about it incessantly and post on social media about my Friday nights at my desk, typing up my blatant Tuck Everlasting Rip Off. I was so proud of myself every time I finished a new draft. I made my friends read it, my teachers’ critique it…and then I started all over again. I was absolutely insufferable and to anyone I subjected to my literary ramblings in those years, I am so sorry. They were Not Good.
But as sorry as I am, I am also incredibly grateful to everyone who humored me. It gave me the unearned confidence of a mediocre white man for a hot second and for that I thank you. Without that encouragement, I might not have been brave enough to put my work out there and grow. I would have been far too scared to share my work with my peers or to feel confident critiquing them back once I started college. The one time a teacher did put me down, it crushed me. Stunted my writing for years and taught me to always be a nice critique partner, because you never know the impact of your words.
But for that one bad critique, I had dozens to look back at and find encouragement. How could I look at these negative notes and think I was a bad writer, when everyone else told me I was great?
Ah that unearned confidence of a mediocre white man carried me so far.
I was convinced I was born for literary greatness for a long time. I was pretty set on becoming a professional writer by the time I was 16 (LOL) because my favorite author at the time got published at 15 and how could I not? Young Alex had no idea how publishing worked and would not for…a very long time.
I literally started revising this again like ten days later
And then in 2014, everything changed.
DUN DUN DUN
But no really, 2014 is when I went off the rails when it comes to my writing trajectory in some ways but…is perfectly fitting in others (more on that once I’m done processing in therapy). It was the year I really started lying to myself about who I wanted to be. I had gotten into Stanford, the dream. 5% Acceptance rate, no one from my school in a decade, I had proven everyone wrong after years of doubt.
And suddenly I realized—
I couldn’t be a writer. How could I tell my parents I was about to spend my basically free (but not really free) quarter million dollar education reading books?? I had to do something that guaranteed my financial future. (And this reader, is where you laugh at the fact that 18 year old Alex somehow thought it was a financial investment to study Chemistry of all things and go into academia. Tell me your parents didn’t have a formal education without telling me your parents don’t have a formal education…).
So I majored in Chemistry and gave myself a fun little treat by minoring in Creative Writing on the side. My first year of college was where I developed my best skill to date—being two different people. There was Alex the Writer and Alex the Chemist. And for the most part, those two worlds didn’t mix. I took writing classes almost every quarter and was usually the odd one out (a science major in a room full of English majors). And science classes were mostly me struggling and pretending to Get It. And somehow I did fine? I got into a cool lab and learned a lot of neat skills and had great experiences! But also I hated my life and wanted to die. It was a weird time that maybe someday I will write a book about. Or not. I am a chronic over-sharer so we shall see!!
ANYWAY, I did a pretty good job of balancing my two lives—or at least that’s what I thought at the time. Now I know that I did what I could, with the time I had, but lab consumed what little free time I had in those days. I managed to write in my classes, but if it wasn’t assigned, I wouldn’t write it. It killed me. Writing used to be this thing that was as easy as breathing for me and now I only did it if it came with a grade.
My senior year of college was when I finally took my first big leap.
I’d had a brilliant line come to me, two years before, followed by 20 pages of rambles. I was itching to work on it, but never felt like I could do it alone. So I applied for the Levinthal Tutorial, a quarter-long mentorship between a published author and a student. I’d already finished the creative writing minor, so I had no reason to take another course. But I couldn’t help myself.
And I got in!
For a quarter, I worked with the brilliant Ruchika Tomar on the first one hundred and twenty pages of FINDING SOCKS. If it wasn’t for her, I’m not sure I would have forced myself to work beyond the first chapter. I somehow managed to draft over a hundred pages while taking two advanced chemistry classes, doing lab research, and graduate school interviews. It was absurd and I recommend no one do it, but it was so worth it because soon after came the next great deviation in my writing journey.
I got into Harvard!
So my new book went back in the drawer and Alex the Writer got some rest while Alex the Chemist hated her life in lab most days. Just kidding, I didn’t really hate my life at first. It was actually fun to learn things and meet new friends and travel to new places! I’m glad I did it! But eventually, as happened in college, lab consumed my life, but I no longer had the fall back of creative writing classes. I wanted to write so badly, but was always too tired or too hungry or or or…the excuses came so easily. I barely got any writing done that first year.
I felt trapped.
But I’ve always been stubborn and I was determined to finish school before letting myself finally pursue the writing thing…until the pandemic happened and sent us all home for months. That’s when I, like many others, decided it was the sign from the universe I needed to Finish This Fucking Book. And I did!! Clocking in at 110k words, FINDING SOCKS was an overwritten mess I spent weeks revising before taking my second big leap.
On a whim, I entered Author Mentor Match in January, an annual writing mentorship between agented and unagented authors. My main hope was to connect with other writers though, after years of being deprived of writer friends. And I did! I made great writing friends leading up to the Mentee List reveal. I hope we stay connected through the rest of our writing careers because I truly value them so much.
But I did also get in!
One of my critique partners and I did actually. As well as some other people I’d connected with on Twitter days earlier too. Suddenly, I had writing friends again? And it was utterly wonderful?? And I found myself hit with the realization that I’d been incredibly sad for a really long time, even when I was really happy, because I hadn’t been writing.
And so here I am, a few months into AMM, openly calling myself a writer again, telling everyone I meet that I, Alex Felix, write books. This journey has been a lot longer than I thought it would be in 2006, but I’m pretty okay with it.
It brought me to Maggie.
And I hope it brings her to you.