by G. Anthony
May 2024, I walked into the Lakefly Writers Conference last year with no expectations. None. At 51 years old, I hadn’t accomplished anything that felt worth sharing, certainly nothing I could be proud of. My dream of becoming a writer—born in a creative writing class 33 years ago—had cooled, chilled, and eventually fossilized, buried beneath the clutter of life’s obstacles. Still, I signed up, determined to give my dream one more chance.
Walking down the hotel’s skywalk, I felt my nerves twist, but the energy of the conference quickly took hold of me. Authors lined the halls, their tables alive with conversation and camaraderie. They weren’t just selling books—they were embodying something I longed to feel: accomplishment.
I observed more than I spoke. I sat in workshops and took notes, connecting dots in my mind that I thought would forever remain loose ends. It wasn’t just the strategies or techniques that made writing make sense to me again; it was the people. The writers around me had forged ahead despite decades of challenges, writing because they loved it. They weren’t so different from me. I wasn’t alone. For the first time, I realized I had been holding myself back.
By the end of the day, I stood at a microphone to give my first public reading. My palms were sweating, my voice shaking, but I read my poem. The room was silent, and I lost myself in the words. When I finished, they applauded. They congratulated me. They felt my poem. And for the first time, I believed it wasn’t just polite encouragement—I believed them. I walked out of that conference with a spark I hadn’t felt in years.
That spark ignited dimming embers I thought might smolder. In the autumn of 2023, I challenged myself to write 500 words a day for 90 days. I had no outline, no roadmap—just raw emotions and the determination to sit down and write, no matter how painful it was. Some days felt torturous, forcing me to face truths I had buried. But I kept showing up. Who was I if I didn’t? A writer doesn’t just talk about writing—they write.
By the end of those 90 days, I had over 90,000 words of truth. What began as chaos transformed into clarity. Over the next year, I refined those words, shaping them into what would become Nobody’s Words, A Poetic Memoir. In that process, I discovered a newer version of myself—fearless, resilient, and free of the whispers that once told me I wasn’t enough.
When I return to the Lakefly Writers Conference this year, I’ll carry with me not just a book I doubted would ever exist, but proof that words hold power and every story can be rewritten. I’ll walk into those halls with a heart full of gratitude for the kind souls who made me feel welcome and accepted, even when I hadn’t accomplished anything yet. They didn’t judge me; they gave me space to dream again.
To anyone reading this, standing where I once stood: I promise you, the answers you seek are within. You don’t need a map. You don’t need to know how it will end. All you need is the courage to start and the stubbornness that all true writers are blessed with to not give up. The journey is messy, uncomfortable, and terrifying—but it’s also transformational. I’m living proof that you can do it. And when you do, you’ll look back with gratitude for every step of the way.
Registration for the 2025 Lakefly Writers Conference opens on Monday, Feb. 3.