Author

Recently I had someone suggest to me that I should write a book. How sweet of them, then I asked if they have ever read anything I have written. To my shock, they had. I stepped back for a minute and tried to understand why they would be suggesting I become a real “author.” It must be a prank. Someone having a little fun with my ego and trying to completely crush my spirit by following it up with a “just kidding.”

Ignoring the fact that they might be pulling my leg, I have taken their suggestion seriously and I will try my hand at writing a book. First thing to do was to get one of those tweed jackets with the leather patches on the elbows, a pipe,and an old typewriter so I can get the best dust jacket photo for my first foray into literature. I can see it now, me sitting in my plush leather chair at my desk with an old Remington (no, not the sculpture or firearm) typewriter at my elbow, toking on my pipe and looking professorial in my tweed jacket with my glasses slide down to the end of my nose. Ernest Hemingway, eat your heart out. Wait a minute, this is a bubble pipe. Never let your wise-ass son order your props.

Some of you may be thinking that I have my priorities backwards but I’m so confident of success, I need to get an early start on the promotion blitz. Someone just mentioned I probably need a title and a story idea. Those will come in time. How long does it take to write a book?

I’m in my chair with my typewriter ready to produce, so here goes…

…Hey…what…why is my face on the keys? I must have dozed off. I guess I need to be well rested to write a book. Good thing I’m using a typewriter. Just imagine what all that drool would do to a computer keyboard.

Ok, time for a restart. Just noticed, it’s almost lunch time. Better make sure I’m completely fueled up so my creative juices are flowing at their best. Be back in a bit.

Lunch is now over and of course, I needed an afternoon nap so I don’t want to repeat the “fall asleep at the keyboard and drool all over the place,” incident. After a couple of hours of snoozing I’m refreshed and ready to go. What’s that? There’s a spot on the window. I need to clean that up. Since I’m at it, I might as well take care of all the windows. Don’t you just hate what a distraction dirty windows can be?

So let’s review my first day writing my great American novel. Looking at my page I see that it is properly positioned in the typewriter and still blank. I’m pretty sure Stephen King has published three new books in the same amount of time.

Maybe I need to create an atmosphere that I believe real authors use to be creative. I’ve brewed up a pot of strong coffee, loosened my tie and have my small desk lamp on and ready for an all nighter to get this book going. I should also have my pipe lit, hanging out of the corner of my mouth, with a ring of smoke swirling around my head, but I gave up smoking years ago, and I don’t want to go back to that bad habit. How about an open bottle of bourbon and a dirty glass next to the typewriter ready to deliver a shot of imagination when I need it. That’s how I imagine Hemingway doing it.

…Damn, fell asleep on the keyboard again. Ignore all the pot marks on my face. I do not have some kind of horrible disease. I guess my system doesn’t handle bourbon well, but I now know it’s a good sleep aid if I need it.

It’s been 24 hours trying to be an award winning author and zilch. I decided to call the person who suggested doing a book in the first place and ask them for their advice. They were happy to tell me that there was no way they thought that I could sit down and write a complete book on one subject. Something about being scattered brained popped up during the conversation. They meant to say I should compile all my little, random articles into a book. Damn, and after I spent all that money on that tweet jacket. Guess it’s time to put the typewriter back as the doorstep it was.

Unfortunately, I’m not a big fan of that. That’s like some band’s greatest hit album. If you buy it, you’re buying copies of songs you already have on another album in your collection. That’s like having two pairs of underwear. My wife just informed me that I do own more than one pair of underwear and it would be nice if I changed them once in a while. 

I guess my dreams of dressing up in tails and going to Stockholm to accept my Nobel Prize in Literature award are out of my very clean windows. You also get a nice cash prize along with a medal. That might have bought me a nice sweet ride.

I guess I should get back to writing one of my little articles for my blog. While I’m at it, I guess I should keep my dreams within reason. Ya think the Cubs will want my hot bat for the clean-up spot in the batting order?

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