About fifteen years ago I decided that I wanted to write a book. I didn't do it. The story that I wanted to tell was good, at least I thought so. But I still didn't write it. I wasn't ready. I realize that sounds like a blanket cover-up for the real reason I never wrote that book, but it's the truth. I lacked the drive that it takes to see a novel through to the end. Colin Powell said, "A dream doesn't become reality through magic; it takes sweat, determination, and hard work." I guess you could say I sat around waiting for little magical elves to write the book for me. They never showed up. Maybe they were too busy making those fudge stripe cookies.
I didn't know it at the time, but that was my first lesson as a writer. Writing is hard. It's not glamorous. The odds of becoming the next Stephen King are about as good as the odds of never hearing a Nickelback song on rock radio. That cannot be a goal. You have to fall in love with writing to become a writer. And this isn't a storybook kind of love. This is the kind of love where it takes years for the object of your affection to notice you. And even then you have to constantly work to keep the attention. But when you fall in love with telling stories, it's worth it.
The courtship of an uninterested desire has sent many to the gallows of regret. It took a long while; there were a few flirts here and there between me and the idea of becoming a writer, but finally a story gave me no other choice but to write it.
I wrote The Shape of Things to Come about three years ago. At times, the process was pure hell. The person I was fifteen years ago would have given up and ate some cookies. That's a good example of love and lust -- with the story, fifteen years ago, the lust lasted about as long as a Poison song. But with The Shape, I'd fallen in love with the story. I had to see it through. I'm proud of the book. Am I completely happy with it? Probably not. But no matter what I go on to write, The Shape will always hold a special place for me. After years of character development, rewrites, and self-doubt, I'll never forget the moment when I typed the words "The End."
It was then that the dream became reality. I was a writer.
