This is the story of a man on a journey.
A journey to claim a part of him that has been lingering inside and tormenting him, begging to be free.
Once upon a time I was going to be a writer. This was not a dream of mine it was, as I considered it, a fact. I always wanted to write fiction. What genre you may ask? The fuck if I knew. I just loved telling stories.
Once on a walk home from school I told my little brother that yellow “golden” leaves were dangerous. I told him this elaborate story about a kid who picked one up and kept it and, eventually, turned into a tree.
Pretty stupid but it just goes to show that I was an imaginative bugger.
In grade 4 I remember that we had these regular writing assignments. I don’t know if that was when I fell in love with writing or if it was another time but this was the time I remember with the most clarity.
There are a lot of different instances where I can remember writing and storytelling but the most impactful one was the most random.
I was waiting for my little brother to get out of school so I could walk him home and a plane flew over me and I thought, “what if it dropped a bomb?” Messed up thought for a kid to have but the thought was there and it grew and it evolved into something I never expected. This was the first novel I ever wanted to write and it became the one I tried to finish for years to come.
The important point wasn’t the failure. There was now a seed in me waiting to grow into something beautiful. The problem is that it was never properly nourished. Instead of growing out and blossoming it has grown internally sprouting from all of the dark places inside of me, festering and tearing me apart.
Bleak imagery. My point is that I have tried and failed to commit to writing a novel for so long that I have lost the belief in myself I had as a child. I no longer just think I can and will be a published author.
Instead I feel like a failure and a disappointment to myself.
Every now and then we get a second wind and maybe this is finally mine. Maybe this is my chance to recapture the magic of being a storyteller and the passion for writing. Maybe this is where what I have believed only to be a dream for so long has shifted back to being a reality.
Maybe my time has come.