I saw it today. It happened at a chance meeting with the artist who is doing the cover art for my first novel, Tripio https://www.amazon.com/Tripio-novel-Starbucks-Millionaire-Novelist-ebook/dp/B07NQ1413V . I loved it of course. What I saw was a mock up for the cover of my book. My name was on the cover. It looked like a real book from a bookstore or online page. My name was on it. My name as the author of a novel.
I spent a good deal of the rest of the day going about my blue collar job. From time to time I tried to recall when I first I dreamed of being a writer. My oldest surviving effort is a cartoon entitled “Fishy Man”, a fish that resembled a carp and who changed into a superhero after saying a few magic words.
Fishy Man never made a splash, so to speak, but the desire, wish, hope, dream of being a writer stayed with me. I can’t recall waking up one morning and telling my mom I wanted to become a writer. Nothing so easily pinpointed as that. At least, I had always kept a journal.
I first started keeping journals in 1987. I refer to them when I need to find something, often something I hadn’t shared with anyone before. I’m sure there exists somewhere, a few pages in a small notebook which pinpoints the day when my hope of becoming a writer was re-born on dry land. Until that turns up, I will use the 30 plus journals I still have as confirmation of that hope.
The journals themselves were ,and still are, way more than lined paper dream catchers. They can be source material for whatever you want them to be. For me, they were also companions for the years I lived alone in Chicago, trying to finish a novel and working at a little known coffee company called Starbucks.
“May I help who’s next?”