At the start of November I mentioned that I was writing a fairy tale to submit for inclusion in an eBook being put together by Homespun Theatre. All funds going into what I like to image is a big cast iron cauldron with the words “CASH” stencilled on the side in white spray-paint. When the cauldron is overflowing with cash-moneys they’ll cart it off to the local witch who will then take it as payment for casting a spell, a magical spell which will let them take their Edinburgh Fringe show on a national tour. It’s like a more capitalist version of Cinderella. This may however not been entirely accurate in its specifics. It’s near enough though, It’ll do.
The eBook went on sale late on Friday afternoon. My monstrously long fairy tale was accepted. I guess this makes me a real and proper writer now. Whoa…
I’ll admit, I haven’t read the entire book yet. There’s a list of reasons as to way this is the case. It’s about 150 pages long; I’ve only had a copy for 2 days; of these days one was spent drunk and the other hungover. So reading it is on the to-do list. I am however, quite certain that it will be very good.
This books represents a rather big milestone for me. The sort of milestone that stands a hundred foot tall, hewn from a spire of living marble, perhaps rigged up with some fairy lights or a big neon sign that reads “MILESTONE.” Up until the release of this book I had just been plodding away in obscurity, writing very much for writing’s sake. But now? Well I’m in a book. Sure we can sit around here and split hairs over whether it constitutes “a real book,” or whether anyone will actually see or read it. These points are largely irrelevant to me. I have written something that was deemed good enough to be published to an audience. Sure the book was being put together by my stout and stalwart internet-writer-friend Ali from 12 books, but there it is: A book. A book people will pay money for. A book which people will pay money for and has things written by me ensconced within its ephemeral cyber-pages. It’s even got an ISBN. A fucking ISBN! I feel quite fantastically proud of myself. It makes me feel that perhaps I’m not wasting my time, that I might not in fact be awful at this whole writing thing and that one day, maybe, just maybe, I might actually be able to get my shit together for long enough to write a book of my own. For now though: baby-steps.