"What point was there of sitting idly and dreaming of the moon when, through work, purposeful action and instances of hard earned luck, the moon could be yours to own."
This is a line that appears in my novel Domini Mortum. It is spoken by Samuel Weaver, the so-called ‘hero’ of the piece, as he recalls his journey from ambitious childhood dreamer to infamous artist and writer for The Illustrated Police News.
Although, I hope, I am nothing like my creation, (as much as any character created by an author is destined to contain some of their personality traits), I confess to including this line in the novel, as it means a lot to my short time as a writer with intentions to be published.
You see, for years I was that dreamer, I sat and wondered when everything that I so thoroughly deserved would be heading towards my house and gently knocking on the door. (I would, of course, answer but only after peering through the window to see whether it would be worth my while answering or not).
I’m not entirely sure when or why things changed for me, perhaps it was the sudden speed of age creeping up behind me and whispering in my ear. Whatever it was though, suddenly I decided that the time for running stories and ideas through my mind for nothing more than my own amusement had run its course. It was time to write them down, to test myself out. Was I really as good as I’d told myself I was for all of those years?
Whatever caused it and why, I am glad that I woke up to the fact that good things rarely come knocking, unless coaxed, tempted and, where necessary, dragged kicking and screaming into your life.
In the five years since I started my writing journey a lot has happened, and at times, (many of them, too many to count and too painful to remember), I wondered where I was heading and whether it was a path which led to absolutely bugger all.
And then, when my wondering was growing to an unbearable intensity, Unbound came knocking on my door, (definitely coaxed, hopefully tempted and as far as the kicking and screaming goes? Let us hope not).
So, am I like Samuel Weaver? Well no not really. My writing has its fans but my drawing is only passable, I am not entirely obsessed with serial killers and ghastly murder, although I admit to knowing my Bundy’s from my H.H Holmes’s and I am not, I hope, “a bit of a shit” as my friend Rob, who test read the novel for me, described Sam.
But do I want the moon though? Ah, well that is another matter altogether. If owning the moon entails being a published author whose work brings a smile, a gasp or a needling chill to those who read it, then yes, I’ll have a little bit of that moon please.
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