How I took my broken heart and made it into art

That time my life sucked so I wrote a book. And now it's being published.

A lot of writers dream of being a novelist from a young age. When I was a kid, I dreamed of starring on Broadway in the late 1990s revival of “Annie”. The closest I got to this dream was a community theater production, where I played Duffy, one of the orphans who had six lines and a solo during “It’s The Hard Knock Life”.¹

Now that I think about it, I never actually dreamed of becoming a novelist. I started my career as a journalist on a whim. When I was 26, I spent one long, depressing summer being turned down for every single crappy, low-paying job I applied to (not unlike this past year of my life). During that time, one of my older sisters nonchalantly said to me, “You’re a good writer, maybe you should try doing that.”

I took her advice and emailed the editor of a local newspaper. In my email, I told him “I have absolutely no experience, but I think I might be good at this.” The editor offered me an internship, which turned into a paid freelance journalism gig, kickstarting my life as a writer.

The dark days of waitressing and telemarketing

My life as a novelist also began after one long, depressing summer working as a waitress in a restaurant in Chicago. I’d moved to the Windy City a few months earlier. I hadn’t made any friends. I wasn’t writing. The MacBook I’d used since college finally broke, leaving me without a laptop to type my brilliant thoughts into. As if being a waitress wasn’t demoralizing enough, I had a second job as a telemarketer. I spent my days being yelled at by the restaurant’s manager and my nights being yelled at by strangers on the phone. It was a dark time.

On a whim, I signed up for a writing class at a local library. The night before my assignment was due, I stayed up late writing a half-assed attempt at a short story. The next day, when I read my work in class, I was surprised when many of the other students said they really liked it. The writing teacher told me that it had the potential to be a novel.

I took her advice and kept writing. I also had to keep waitressing and telemarketing, so it was still a dark time, but now it was a little less dark because I wasn’t just a low-paid worker in the service industry, I was becoming a novelist.

Me, my baby face and my first draft back in 2015.

Writing and revising ad nauseam

That period of my life was many years ago. I no longer live in Chicago. I don’t have a job, a house, or even a boyfriend, but I did manage to get a new laptop. I also managed to finish the short story that was really a novel. After experiencing the thrill that comes with completing a first draft, I wrote another. And another. And another. And another. Then I asked a few folks to read what I wrote. Then I penned another draft. And another. And another. Then I put the novel away and came back months later to read it with fresh eyes. I realized it needed another draft. And another. Then an entire global pandemic happened. I wrote another draft. I revised that one. And another.

Let’s fast forward this writing-and-revising-and-editing everything one-million times montage to right now: April 2024. My debut novel, Romance vs. Reality, is coming out at the end of this month. In less than 30 days, I can officially call myself not just a writer, but a published novelist. Feels weird to even type that.

Many novel drafts later. Slightly less baby faced here.

Shedding non-hormonal tears of joy

Yesterday I received my first review from someone who read an advanced review copy of my book. This is the first person who’s read my novel who isn’t a friend, an editor, a colleague, or a relative—someone who has no obligation to lie and tell me that they like it or that it “sounds like a real book already!”, as one friend told me after I sent them an early draft.

The reviewer gave my book 5 stars and wrote “This book was so sweet and absolutely hilarious…This is a breath of fresh air, the perfect palate cleanser in between much darker books for me. Portia is so relatable and wonderfully written. She (like the author) has the most deliciously wicked sense of humour. As a reader I was 100% in her corner.”

Did I cry a little when I read that? Yes. Am I pms-ing right now and about to get my period? No, which means that these were real tears and not just hormones. Did this review from a complete stranger make me feel like all those drafts and personal setbacks and bad dates and heartbreaks that inspired the novel were maybe, actually worth it in the end? Yes—but I still regret texting that one guy multiple times after it was clearly over.

The more your heart breaks, the more art you have to make

Sometimes your life sucks and there’s no reason for it. But other times, you’re able to take these dark, depressing periods and turn them into art. Or more specifically, as Carrie Fisher supposedly once said to Meryl Streep “Take your broken heart, make it into art.”

My heart has been broken several times since I started writing Romance vs. Reality. I’ve also gone through friendship breakups, broken up with several jobs, and said tearful goodbyes to people and places I once called home.

Maybe my heart will break again, and then I can make more art about it. But for now, I want to celebrate the fact that I made some pretty good art out of my heartbreak. I’m also really glad I didn’t star in the Broadway revival of “Annie” because no one should peak at 13.

Still got that baby face — but now I have a book too!

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*** Shameless self-promotion: my debut novel, Romance vs. Reality, comes out April 30th. You can pre-order the Kindle/e-book version on Amazon. Paperback copies will be available via my website www.rosannaturner.com at the beginning of May. If you’re not already, subscribe to my newsletter for updates when the book is actually out! ***

1. I beat out eight other preteen girls in my town for the role of an orphan in “Annie”, marking the only time in my life where I crushed the competition.