2006 to… today
My first book is done after a fury-filled twelve months. I know there’s no one out there waiting for it. I know I shouldn’t keep my hopes up. That there are a million reasons for the whole thing to fail. Too bad. I cling to the one truth I know: whatever you’re doing, it’s 5 percent talent and 95 percent work. So I convince myself that I believe in it. A reader who evaluated the novel said she liked it. I tell myself, if the traffic lights go green in the next ten seconds, then a publisher somewhere in the world will notice my novel. Hey, isn’t Eminem shouting “If you had one shot, one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted…” right now in the car’s sound system?
But this is all bullshit. In truth, I’m scared to death.
So, heart pounding, I slip the manuscript in an envelope and send it to the great unknown. And I do the only thing that will give me some relief, I start a new book.
Weeks fly by. I’m wearing an old t-shirt. It’s blue with a picture of SpongeBob Squarepants. Stupid, really. I bought it in the middle of nowhere, in a dusty town of the American West. It’s a trophy of sorts. A promise to the future.
The dream that one day, I will be published.
A dream that I will see you walking inside my pages, with me at your side, for a little while.
I blink. I finish my coffee.
My eyes open and all of sudden, you are here.