So, my marriage was finished, my life as I knew it was over. I was lonely and found myself needing a lift to stop me moping about the house. I expected it to be working on the car but no it came from the most unlikely source, my Grandads desk.
I set it up in the master bedroom in front of a big picture window that overlooked the harbour. I loved sitting there, being north facing, the sun streamed in bathing it in warmth and light, even on a cold day it was a warm cosy spot. One day sitting there going over monthly sales figures from the car yard on my laptop and I don't know where it came from, but I started writing.
At school I loved to write, I actually won some prizes and my English teacher tried to encourage me to take it seriously but I saw it as a pussy thing to do. All I wanted to do at the time was play rugby and chase girls.
I still had some of the certificates and prizes I won for creative writing from my teenage years somewhere.
I never took it seriously, I saw it as teenage ramblings nothing more than that, especially after meeting Shelby the literary genius. Here it was different. I had nothing to do and as I started writing the words flowed, they poured out of my mind faster than my fingers convert them to type. When I looked at the clock it was late the sun was gone, darkness prevailed.
I chuckled softly as I made myself some dinner. Wow what a day, I had still only processed less than half of my thoughts. After dinner I sat straight back down and immersed myself again. Only tiredness finished me off.
During my marriage my writing wasn't something I shared with Shelby. The fact she was an incredibly gifted writer and editor left me questioning my own efforts, I always felt my writing was flawed, that meant I never built the courage to show her any of the stuff I wrote at school. It was too embarrassing. My writings were amateurish teenage bullshit. I decided after our marriage to lock away any thoughts of writing and forget them. It wasn't a hard decision, it's not like I was any good.
When I woke in the morning, I couldn't help myself, I was straight back into it. All the emotions I felt during our breakup flowed into the story. I held nothing back as I related in words the story of our breakup. I changed the names so it was less obvious but this was essentially our story, a romance, a tragedy, in many ways a horror story, at least from my perspective.
Another day disappeared, as the words appeared in print my load lightened and I felt better, brighter. The story dominated my life, driving me even whilst at work my mind was entangled in telling my story capturing the pain and anguish. It only took a couple of weeks and it was finished over one hundred thousand words, bloody hell it had grown into war and peace.
When I read it, I could see all the flaws it needed editing badly. I am no expert but even I could see it needed polishing. Having a wife who is a world class editor made this part difficult; I didn't want her to ever know about this. I didn't write it for gain, I had been treating it as therapy, part of my healing process.
As I reclined back in my chair I struggled with the emotion, I reread the story and it gave me a warm glow, I thought to myself, 'this is actually alright'.
Being a little proud of it I decided there must be other editors I could use to help me polish it up so I could be satisfied with it.
I quickly created a pseudonym and matching email and dived online to search out an editor. It wasn't hard, there were quite a few. None of the names meant anything to me so I picked one at random. Rebecca, I chose only for no other reason than I liked her name. It cost $400 dollars but I figured what the hell, you only live once. I wanted to keep it for prosperity something I could look back on when I was old and grey.
Plus, I was interested in what it would look like after an expert had massaged it. Remembering back to my school days when my warbling's came back covered in red ink because my grammar was so terrible. I wasn't much of a student, I liked writing but I detested learning the rules.
Rebecca who did the editing stayed in constant contact as she made suggestions working her way slowly through the book. She was a cheery sort of woman full of praise for my writing but I put that down to her wanting any more work that might come from my scribblings, she was only interested in stroking my ego to get any follow up work. You know the adage you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
I was surprised at the end when she sent me the finished thing. She did a tremendous job and I liked her suggestions and alterations. What I wasn't expecting was her asking permission to send it to a publisher. She thought it was so good that she would have no trouble getting it published.
I laughed reading that. It wasn't what it was about, but it was an enormous stroke to my bruised and fragile ego. After taking a couple of days to think about it I agreed. It would be nice to see it in print and if anyone ever brought it that would be incredible.
My ego was still battered and bruised from the divorce, I realised early that it was part of what hurt so much being replaced so easily killed me. I guess I expected her to come chasing after me but since her return I had heard nothing from her. No phone calls, no text messages, emails nothing. I mean all she talked about was taking the month to make a decision, so I did expect her to want to talk. But no, I guess she made her decision and I no longer fitted in her future.
A couple of months passed and writing quickly became my relaxation, all my spare time was tied up behind the desk writing or staring across the sparkling waters of the bay. Large container vessels passed close by and I found myself a ship watcher as well. As they passed by, I pulled out my binoculars and watched the crewmen scampering about wondering where their next port of call would be. I even went so far as keeping a brief journal of their names and home ports.
Shelby may as well have been dead, she had vanished so completely from my life, I heard through Jennifer that she purchased a small apartment in the city centre. I did want to ask about whether she was living alone but couldn't find a way to ask without making myself appear like the wimpy sad hubby so I left that question unasked.
Our friends had sort of taken sides after the divorce, her friends no longer invited me to their shindigs and my friends made sure that even her name was never mentioned so our worlds separated completely.
I did see that Paul Withersomes book did get published and the literary world clamoured over him like ravenous feeding sharks. I hadn't read it but it appeared Shelby was at least right about that; he had a bestseller on his hands.
I got the shock of my life when I received notification from a small publishing house that they wanted to publish my book. There was some toing and froing before it went to print, the artwork of course and the money side of it. Because I had to release my true name and identity for financial reasons, my alter persona obviously had no bank account. I made sure the publishers were tied to a very strict and binding agreement that my real identity would under no circumstances be released for public consumption.
Nothing happened for a month or more but one day as I walked from the caryard down to a café for lunch walking past a small newsagent, I caught a glimpse of my book for sale in the window. Wow... what a boost to the self-esteem. My first thought was, '
HAH SUCK ON THAT SHELBY
.'
The shock of seeing it for sale, and yes, I did buy a copy, I wanted records to show at least one copy sold.
As far as ego boosting went, seeing it reviewed in a human-interest story on the evening news was an even bigger surprise. Apparently, people liked the book and it was actually selling, I may have brought the first copy but it was not the last. The royalty cheque I received from the publishers with the artwork costs removed didn't exactly set the financial world on fire but for me it was the most incredible feeling of accomplishment. I was stoked beyond belief.
The Christchurch weekend press ran a review of the book and it received a glowing commendation filled with lots of positivity.
As an aside, Shelby and I had our first meeting, it wasn't sought, it was forced upon us by Jennifer's birthday. Shelby invited both Selwyn and Jennifer to stay with her and celebrate in style. I really would have preferred not to go but that would have been churlish. I sucked it up and offered to take everyone out for dinner at the best restaurant in town.
