Yesterday was the birthday of my dear friend EP. I credit EP, as my very first reader, with helping me finish my first novel. EP and I found each other by accident or divine intervention.

Here's the short story:

Many years ago, when my husband and I operated a drapery workroom in the barn behind our house, I desperately needed help. We had already hired several people that we found by placing ads in the newspaper's local help wanted section.

First, there was French Pat, who immigrated from France and had experience working in the Ethan Allen Furniture Store’s workroom. French Pat had the work ethic of a machine, and the bladder to match. At the time, we did not have a restroom in the barn and instead had to go into our house, which she never did! Remarkable!).

Then, we found Jackie, a young mother of two who suffered from burnout from her regular job as an operating room nurse. An expression we learned from Jackie: The biggest evil of good is better when a surgeon obsesses about a procedure or a method at the expense of keeping the patient sedated too long.

Next came Rita, a mature woman who had trained at a trade school in Worcester, Massachusetts just after World War II. Then we hired Second Pat, with whom I had worked at a local fabric store. And finally, Francine, who also found us through the help-wanted ad.

But one day, out of frustration and necessity, I made a small hand-written sign, pushed the paper into a plastic sheet protector, and attached the flyer to a wooden stake that I pounded into the ground at the end of our driveway.

Two simple words: 'Stitcher wanted.'

My husband said, "That's not going to work." And I knew he was probably right, but I posted the sign, nonetheless. Later that day, or maybe a couple of days later, an attractive young woman knocked on the workroom door. "I saw your sign, and I'm just curious what you do here." There was something about this woman. I liked her immediately.

We chatted. I waved around the room at the various sewing machines. I probably introduced EP to my other 'stitchers.'

I quickly realized that I knew her husband, or rather knew 'of' him because he and I had been neighbors all of our lives, although he was half a generation my senior.

EP shared a bit about her sewing experience, politely said her 'nice to meet you' and 'goodbyes,' and went on her way.

A few days later, still needing help in the workroom, I rang EP on the telephone and pleaded with her to try the job. And she did. She was experienced, precise, and, most importantly, really nice.

Eventually, I learned of her passion for reading novels, and for some reason that I can hardly explain (divine intervention again? probably), I asked her if she'd like to read a few pages of a novel I was writing.

She agreed.

Over the next few months, I woke up early every day to write three pages of my book.

Every day, I printed out those pages and handed them to EP.

Every day, she graciously received the pages, folded them, and slipped them into her purse.

The routine of daily practice sharpens our skills

But without an audience, the purpose wanes and we find other tasks that fill our time. “The social sharing of information about progress being made in tasks usually, procrastinated helps overcome one of the inherent difficulties in such activities” (Boice, 1989, p. 611) including tackling creative projects, producing art, and undertaking in any ‘maker’ endeavor.

EP gave my writing purpose. She became my accountability partner. As a first reader, EP never criticized. She might have said, 'Can't wait to see what happens next,' or something like that. EP gave me enough feedback that I knew she wasn't simply 'binning' the pages.

I finished the first draft of that book almost 30 years ago.

I've revisited and revised the text many times over the years. There are many similarities between me and the novel’s protagonist. Annie keeps her paintings safe and secure in a locked back room of her studio. And I keep her story safely stored as a Word document on my computer.

But what if Annie’s fictional art could bring joy to an otherwise dull interior?

But what if my unpublished manuscript story could inspire others to do their art?

What if my novel entertains its readers with the sheer joy of reading?

What if my story opens doors for the next phase of my life? This divulgence happens to Annie, the protagonist when she enters a contest and wins.

EP often asks me about Johnny, Annie's, what exactly is he? Johnny is Annie's muse, her real-life angel, who helps her find the courage to release her art to the world. Johnny personifies Annie’s accountability partner.

I owe it to EP, my first reader, to finally birth this story.

Do you have projects that you secret away for fear of criticism?

Try this:

Find a caring, accountability partner to receive your work. Be clear that you are not asking for a critique partner. There are plenty of people to engage later who can examine your work and suggest changes and edits.

“Your partner can reward your successes with celebratory activities or evil gifts, such as a hot fudge sundae (unless you’re still on Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig). He or she may also extinguish failure with severe beatings or grace” (Berk, 2011, p. 57).

Your partner can view your drawings and plans and listen to your monologues or songs. Your partner supports you when you falter and eagerly waits for your next project.

Your accountability partner check-ins will motivate you to keep going

In the end, you owe everything to this first willing partner.

Thank you, EP, for always supporting me.