On The Eve Of Becoming A Published Author

For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of being a published author. It began, one might suppose, in my early childhood days of climbing the branches of the tree in our front yard to sit there, midway up in the perfect nook, reading for hours on end. How my butt didn’t get sore (I can only imagine) must have had something to do with the spongy, elasticity of youth.

I read a lot of Stephen King up in my tree. But I also read classics such as Animal Farm, Charlotte’s Web, and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, which I never tire of talking about. Somewhere along the way, in the midst of all those pages I must have thought to myself, “I can do this. How hard could it be?” Now, a mere three decades later, here I am, reveling in the pride that comes from surmounting all the near-insurmountable challenges one faces during the long and blessed process of writing a full-fledged novel. All you need to do really, is conquer the self-damning damages of Time.

But no, I shouldn’t be rude to Time because Time has been quite good to me. It’s allowed me to grow and get fat whilst swallowing my pride and thousands of cheeseburgers. I’ve written uncountable words and stories, lo these many years for countable different outlets and venues. I’ve been excruciatingly fortunate to have written for literary journals, educational publishing companies, websites, and newspapers. I’ve had the best teachers, mentors, and peers an emotional fool with a penchant for typing too loudly could ask for.

And I’ve interviewed writers! Big names like the dark King himself and Michael Chabon! In college, I was enamored with Chabon’s The Mysteries of Pittsburgh and set out to pen my very first novel, partly inspired by that marvelous book. I completed my first foray into long-form prose during an independent study in my Senior Year. The end result was a grand experiment in self-amusement; I can’t say it was much more than that. My professor gave me an A, God bless him, though the writing was most assuredly the mad ravings of a novice, at best.

Since then, I’ve begun many other unfinished novels, completed a few decent ones, and until now, published none. I Am Marcus Fox is a result of learning from those various attempts. What I garnered along the way is not quantifiable. These bits and pieces have helped me get to where I am tonight, on the verge of becoming an indie author, and I am at once amped up and humbled by the lifelong experiences.

Geez, calm down, guy. If you keep this up you’ll have a heart attack and croak before the thing sees the light of tomorrow’s day.

Very well. I will rein in the overtly saturated, sacrosanct emotions for a sense of decorum. Besides, when a book is released into the world, it’s no longer the author’s to gush over. In the end, it’s a tale for the readers, the ones for whom it was written in the first place.

Marcus is an interesting species. He has a wonder of a story to tell. It is my hope that he finds some readers out there who will join him on his journey.

Tonight, for the last night, the lions sleep.

Hush, my darling Marcus.


In the village, the quiet village…

In the village, the quiet village…