An Unconventional Path to Writing, by Lenore Borja
One day in early 2018, I sat down, opened a blank document on my laptop, and started writing.
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I moved to New York City at the age of twenty to attend The American Academy of Dramatic Arts (AADA). I was going to be an actress—not just any actress, a famous one. I say this because there is an enormous distinction between the two. A working actor is one thing. A famous actor? That’s shooting for the moon.
But I was sure it would happen to me. I was young and driven, with stars in my eyes. Forget that I knew nothing about the craft. I’d get by on ‘natural talent.’ To say I was clueless is an understatement. But I had the guts to give it a shot, to move to a city where I didn’t know a soul and just go for it. Frank’s lyrics spurred me on. If I can make it there, I’d make it anywhere!
Well, I got knocked down a few pegs from the get-go. That’s what these acting schools do. They strip you of your confidence to get to the genuine artist within. Only then can you begin to make progress.
After a few shaky weeks, I began to find my groove. I let go of my preconceived notions of ‘good acting’ and started focusing on character. Motivation. The story behind the story. Acting isn’t simply blocking and memorizing lines. It’s immersing yourself in a character’s mind, understanding what makes them tick and why. If you’re doing it right, you’ve done hours of work before speaking your first line.
Every actor has a process that works best for them. For me, it was writing pages of backstory to tap into my character’s motivation. This allowed me to deliver her lines with intention and purpose. I never shared these ‘stories’ with anyone, but they informed the choices I made while in character. The playwright or screenwriter provided some information, but it was up to me to bring their dialogue to life.
After graduating from AADA, I officially became that dreaded cliché: the struggling actor. Acting school was a breeze in comparison. I could kill it in scene study. Once, a fellow thespian pulled me aside and told me my scene was so good they forgot I was acting. I rode that high for a long time. But it wasn’t enough to prepare me for what lay ahead in the ‘real world.’ Auditioning was a completely different animal. And I was terrified of it.
Not to say I didn’t have some success. I booked a few regional commercials and performed in small, black-box theater productions. I got my rite-of-passage role on Law & Order, Criminal Intent. (blink, and you’ll miss me) But I hated auditioning. It was nothing like living in my character. I’d do a ton of work on her backstory only to be cast aside after 90 seconds because I was too nervous to let the work come through.
I’d lost touch with the joy of acting, the pleasure of tapping into a character and living her story. And forget about being a famous actor. After a few years, I would have sold my soul to be an unknown, barely-getting-by working actor. I was no longer enjoying the journey, so it was time to embark on a new one.
Wall street.
Now, how did I go from acting to Wall Street? I often wonder that myself. But as with many life changes, it happened by accident. I needed a job, a friend of a friend’s firm had an opening, and despite my lack of experience, they hired me.
I should qualify that my job was less Wall Street and more Wall Street’ adjacent’. I didn’t live and breathe the markets like Gordon Gekko. I was in executive recruiting. My firm helped young investment bankers get the jobs that would allow them to eventually become Gordon Gekko (sans the hostile takeover, villain part). It was stressful at times, and Imposter Syndrome often reared its ugly head. There I was, a former actress, interviewing Ivy League all-stars to determine if they were the right fit for a hedge fund or private equity client. I constantly doubted myself. Yet somehow, I made a career of it—promotion and all.
I knew nothing about finance, but I worked hard to get myself up to speed. I read Barbarians at the Gate and Liar’s Poker. I became familiar with investing terminologies and used phrases like long/short equity, leveraged buyout, and secondary investing on a daily basis. My firm was founded by a woman and run by women—smart, driven, and successful women. I did well because I had amazing role models.
After ten years in recruiting, I joined the talent management team of a global investment firm in San Francisco. My learning curve was steep, and sometimes I felt like I was drowning. But I worked my butt off to prove myself because, deep down, I didn’t think I deserved to be there. Looking back, I DID deserve to be there. I did my job, and I did it well. But I also put enormous pressure on myself to be ‘perfect,’ and that’s a dangerous game. Perfection is an illusion, and this mindset inevitably leads to burnout.
Two years later, I was ready to call it quits. The firm I worked for was high-profile and well-respected in the industry. Career-wise, it was an incredible opportunity. Yet try as I might, the fit was never quite right. I knew it was time to move on; I just didn’t know where yet.
Then one day in early 2018, I sat down, opened a blank document on my laptop, and started writing. I’d done some writing in the past—in between acting jobs—but this time was different. I had more tools in my toolbox. I was disciplined, determined, and focused. I had years of work/life experience to draw from, and I could type like the wind. I only wrote one page that day, but that page eventually turned into a 368-page book that will be published on November 1, 2022.
The only way to finish is to begin.
All those pages of backstory I wrote in acting school, all that character work—it wasn’t for nothing. It taught me how to create characters, live inside their minds, and learn what makes them, them. And there isn’t an actor alive that hasn’t encountered rejection. Rejection and I are well-acquainted at this point. As for my time in recruiting and talent management? Let’s just say I know how to work well under pressure now. I know how to prioritize my time and meet deadlines. I know how to get the job done.
That’s what I told myself when I started writing my first novel. “Get the job done. Keep going. Don’t stop until you reach the end.” Sure, there was a lot of work to do afterward because, as many writers know, the end is only the beginning. But I couldn’t have got there without the detours I took along the way. We all have our paths. The destination might change, but if we trust the journey, we’ll end up exactly where we’re supposed to be.
