The present

"I don't think I can give you a promotion this year," he said.

I felt a kick in my stomach. I wanted to scream and cry. Still, I did none of those things, and instead, I smiled at my manager. The year before, he had made me believe-- during the recruitment process-- I had better chances to climb the Corporate ladder by working in his department, but sitting in front of him in that tiny meeting room, I felt like a fool. Once more, I heard how difficult it was to make upper management give me an opportunity. After all, I did not behave as expected-- even if my results were more than good-- and I did not spend as much time networking as my colleagues. I worked and had results, but I was not who they expected. All the things that had made me a fantastic hire on paper had become my worst traits, and that's a tough pill to swallow. How on Earth had I thought what he was telling me was real? Hadn't I learned anything in all those years I'd buried my nose in papers and burned my eyes with the laptop screen?

That day, things started to change. I began to think about all my plans, the path I had so carefully crafted to reach the position that was supposed to allow me to work on something I loved, be listened to, and make a difference in the company. None of those things had turned out to be as expected. I had reached a dream position and dealt with the workload, but I did not feel seen or heard. The challenge turned into annoyance, and soon ---after the talk with my boss-- I faced the sad truth: I had fallen out of love with my job, and it hurt. It hurt a lot. I felt I had dropped into a work-friend zone, where I stayed because it was manageable and well-paid, but the love, the one we write with big letters and shout out at the wind, was gone. 

I could have stayed. I could have faked my feelings and accepted the monthly check, but I am a business romantic and wanted much more. After a few weeks, I had to make a decision. I would love to say it happened because it was as clear as water, but it was mainly influenced by my doctor, who said I was about to burn out. Continuous thinking and obsessive planning can cause your body to shut down, together with the frustration of not being recognized and being continuously pushed down. I never liked to be pushed around, no matter the direction. I always enjoyed having some degree of freedom to do whatever I had to and to think outside the box if necessary. I could never be "one of the guys." Genetics and lousy temper made it impossible. Let's blame it a bit on a feminist upbringing by a modern-life warrior and a lot on my own experience. I never saw blending in and shutting up as a good strategy to be great. It can avoid trouble but never brings greatness.

Months later, after taking some time to rest, I quit my job, the one I had fought for, which was supposed to show others that someone like me -- like many others-- could be reached. It pained me to leave. Some people around me told me they would miss me, and I knew that if I stayed, I could make a difference for many, but I couldn't think about that anymore. I chose to have no goodbye party, and no one tried to convince me otherwise. Those who felt like it talked to me and wished me good luck, and others read and archived my goodbye email. That's okay; I'd seen it happen before.

So, selfish me, dreaming of a better, healthier, and happier life, left the Corporate world to do something I wanted. I spent the following months writing, reading, and querying. I learned a lot: things I'd never thought about, many that made me laugh, and others that made me cringe. 

Had I chosen a barely impossible profession to succeed in? Yes. 

Had I left a good salary for no pay at all and continuous uncertainty about my skills and future? Yes, and yes. 

Was I delusional? I prefer to call it radical optimism. 

After six months of investing in the craft, where my dear pink laptop was my most loyal partner, I decided I needed support. Despite my enthusiasm and time invested, the query process had been exhausting, the results disappointing, and I was losing a bit of my spark, so I looked for a professional editor to answer questions and support me. I love to do my thing, to work alone when needed. Still, we all need someone else from time to time. I found someone who made my life difficult, my work even harder, and turned out to be the one I needed to make my book better. 

My manuscript changed from being the first part of a trilogy to a stand-alone story. I battled the word count, the typos, and the need to lay out a better hook for the reader. I wanted to create a page-turner, but how can you do it when you know you already wrote too much? You cut. I wrote, cut, edited, and cut again. By the end of the year, I had a much better manuscript, which was still long for the genre standards but much better. That was the first time I looked at it and thought I had a real chance. Remember: radical optimism. 

"I want to publish next year," I told my partner one night, discussing our New Year's resolutions. It was Christmas time, and our house was packed with family spending the holidays with us, but the only thing I could think of was how I would feel the day I saw my novel in a bookstore. I did not care about the presents and did not want to cook. I just wanted to write.

The New Year arrived, the family left, and I returned to my faithful pink laptop to take care of my next round of edits. I spoke with my editor, and I took a decision. I had always wanted to follow the conventional path, to be chosen by an agent and publish with one of the big five, but after a year, I remembered something: my plans had never worked before, never as expected. I had been successful in my career but never by doing exactly what I thought I would do. What a fool I had been, convincing myself I would break the pattern... That's when I accepted a proposal for hybrid publishing. On January six, the Three Wise Men's Day, I gave myself a present: I signed the contract with my publisher.

What my last manager told me pushed me to do what I wished. 

What I gifted myself might change my life... or not. Curious about what might happen?