Thursday, February 23, 2012

Here I go Again (with all appologies to Whitesnake)

I'm sitting on lunch break with my mind spinning.  You know that dream you have, that thing you want to do with your life.  No, not that one, the one you barely even acknowledge its existence.  The one you think about or work on when you think no one is watching.  Yeah, that one.  How would you feel if you were on the verge of having that dream realized.  On Monday, a publisher will let me know if I am to be published.  I understand something today better than I ever have in my life.  Whatever I'm told Monday about my book, the journey is just beginning.  Whether this publisher goes forward with the project or not, I am.  It still amazes me that I'm even this close to it being a reality.

It was was around 6 months ago I began blogging.  I started with a simple bucket list.  #10 on that list was to make a living as a writer.  I found myself looking at that bucket list every day thinking, well, why can't I write.  I'll tell you why, I can't physically write.  My handwriting looks horrendous.   I had terrible writing before my arm surgery, and now. . . it's dang near unreadable.  I always laugh when I think I was in the last class of typewriting at CCHS.  I dare say if computers hadn't become what they have, my writing dream would have been nothing more than a dream. 

So now I have the tools, but what to write.  I'm not one for deep technical details or descriptions, but I know how to tell a story.  Strangely enough it started because my buddy David Wilhelm wanted to write fantasy wrestling and have someone write with him.  I looked back over some of those things I had written over 10 years ago the other night, and it really should be no surprise about how I currently write.  My writing was story and character driven then.  When I sat down to write The Road to Vengance the story was suppose to be about a murder of a girl.  While the murder is still in the book, the rest of it is something that just exploded out of me.  The main character, John Fowler, was always suppose to be my pen name.  (A pen name I picked out at eight years old by the way.)  

So here I sit 6 months later, with the chance to publish something I did just to see if I could it.  Let me tell you something I can't stress enough, I have loved EVERY minute of writing this book.  It now feels as much a part of me as my arm or leg.  The other day a good friend told me that this book is my art, my creative passion.  That took me by surprise.  I began to reflect on the idea.  I'm not suppose to be creative.  I'm a big guy.  I like ultimate fighting and wrestling.  I like movies with explosions.  I love violent collisions in football.  I'm not suppose to be creative.  Yet I am.  I never considered myself creative.  I played in the band and other instruments, but I wasn't very good.  

So I'm creative and these books (I'm nowhere close to done with John) are my art.  I'm almost 38 years old and I'm finally figuring out what I like to do.  Does that mean anyone else will like it?  No.  No, it doesn't.  A lot of people pour their heart and soul into their work, and others don't like it, for whatever reason.

So here I sit.  In 96 hours I could be on my way to having my first book published.  I am scared to death.  I didn't know these emotions existed in me about something of mine.  I can't think about anything else.  I might get to live my dream; a dream I didn't even want to admit existed in me. 

So here I go again.  On another journey, but this time down a road I've never taken.  I don't know what's going to happen, but I truly hope each of you who are reading this, get this experience.  My life will never be the same again.

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