It’s facile, and maybe a bit too obvious, to say that I’ve achieved and/or experienced many things in the last seven years that would not have been possible had we stayed married. I wouldn’t have had the magical interludes, I wouldn’t have made the friends I have now, I wouldn’t be writing this blog.
But bigger things happened, too. Momentous things. Like taking the risk of launching two very different startups; like starting my very own company; like moving into a fun, energized part of the city; like writing my first novel.
I think I actually started Ray, reflected when we were married. I know I started writing at least a couple of novels during that time. But the exigencies, compromises, and negotiations of married life, work, freelance writing gigs (which paid), parenting, and home ownership tended to be strong excuses for putting off any sort of serious effort. I had that “I’ll write when...” mantra on infinite repeat. “I’ll write when we have a room I can use as an office.” “I’ll write when I’ve finished this magazine assignment.” “I’ll write when we get a second computer.”
See, the hardest thing about writing isn’t actually coming up with good ideas, or being a master of dialog, or telling a story. The hardest thing about writing is actually writing. It’s the physical act of sitting down for an extended period of time (whether it’s 20 minutes or a few hours) and just...writing.
I’m not saying married, home-owning, busy, working parents can’t be successful writers. But I always had about four dozen reasons why I couldn’t finish any novels floating around in my head.
But once the house emptied out, once the noise and demands for attention dropped to 50 percent, I needed to fill the quiet with something fulfilling. And vodka wasn’t always an option. So I cranked up my workout regimen. And I made improvements to the big blue house; trimmed back the trees, repaired broken sprinkler heads, replaced the garbage disposal.
And I started my young adult novel. I didn’t make a whole lot of progress at first. Too many other fun things would get in the way. It was Mom, really, who gave me the kick in the ass I needed. She called me one day to say she’d been driving past one of those Scholastic book fair trucks—you know, the ones that park at elementary schools and sell paperbacks to happy kids—and she was looking at the giant images of book covers on the side of the truck. She caught a glimpse, or maybe a vision, of a book with my name on it.
“You need to write that book, Eric,” she said. Summer was approaching quickly, and Simone and her mom had made a plan to spend 10 days with the maternal grandparents. I’d have 10 non-parenting days in a row. Seemed like an opportunity; I could take a vacation, or I could go somewhere and write. I opted to fly to San Francisco, staying part of the time with my best buddy there, and part of the time with my sister. And every single day, I would wake up early, walk to the local coffee shop, and write for three hours without interruption.
By the time I was flying back to Denver, I had a good 150 pages composed. It was only a matter of weeks, with that momentum behind me, until I was able to finish the first draft of the novel.
I sent it out here and there, got a few compelling bites, but nothing panned out. I got busy with a new project that was all-consuming, and Ray, reflected lay dormant, moved chapter by chapter to each new computer. An itch I didn’t bother scratching—something I knew I should get back to eventually.
When I was a kid, I lived in Denver for a couple years before moving to LA. My two best friends in Hebrew school were Ray and Matt (my eponymous character’s last name was originally the real Ray’s last name, but he asked me to change it). I lost touch with both of them over the years, but, just a couple years ago, I ran into Ray at Target (we recognized each other immediately), and we ended up working on some projects together—his confidence in me was instrumental in my starting my own company and cutting the tethers working for someone else.
One day, during a breakfast meeting, I wondered aloud where Matt might be. When I had some time later in the day, I started perusing (you guessed it) Facebook, and eventually found a guy who MIGHT be him. So I sent an email, mentioning a particularly embarrassing story, and asked if I’d found the right Matt. I had (though he didn’t remember the story).
We met for lunch a few days later.
It turned out that Matthew owns a small, but respected publishing company, so eventually we started talking about writing. I hesitated to pitch my work, but he asked more about it, and we talked about the different books I have rolling around in my brain. I mentioned Ray. Matthew told me they didn’t publish young adult novels, but were pondering starting a YA imprint. He asked if I wanted him to read the manuscript, solely for some feedback.
I agreed to the honor of having a publisher and old friend read the thing, and sent it over to him.
A few weeks later, Matthew left me a voice message, telling me he wanted to talk about my book. I avoided calling him back—I wasn’t ready for criticism. When he finally reached me, he said, “I want to talk to you about Ray, reflected.”
I took a deep breath. Got up from the couch in my apartment, and started pacing. “Great,” I managed to breathe.
“I really liked it. And I want to publish it.”
The room changed. Maybe the sun had been behind a cloud. Or maybe it had finally shifted its light into the courtyard of my building. All I know is that everything around me was suddenly vivid and colorful and illuminated. I sat down on a dining room chair and immediately stood back up. Matthew proceeded to tell me how much he liked the voices of the characters, outlined his favorite scenes, and mentioned how he wanted to know more about the ghostly, mysterious character “Dude.” I told him I’d build out Dude’s story and do some revisions.
When we got off the phone, I had the promise for a contract and a small advance still echoing in my head. I immediately called my mom.
And now, about a eighteen months later, the book is real. It’s available on Amazon, and people are buying it. Who knows how long it’ll be before my mother sees the cover of one of my books on the side of a Scholastic truck! Funny how two pals I knew when I was 9 years old have returned to become such an important part of my new life.
Guess I’d better get back to writing the next book in the Ray series. I already have the story worked out in my head...
Recent Comments