The Very First Draft

My first substantial book idea came in the summer of 1999 while I was working at an ice cream shop in the North Carolina mountains. I’d wasted my freshman year of college at one of the state’s “party schools” and, after dropping out, spent the next year filling a roommate slot at my best friend’s apartment in a different college town. After failing my second attempt at higher education at a local community college, I’d resigned myself to working over the summer before moving home.

I’ve always been a daydreamer. Raised in a Southern Baptist church, I got through the services by disappearing into my head. I conjured hostage situations that somehow could only be stopped by a teenager (a la Toy Soldiers). Of course I got superpowers, and of course it was epic.

Those post-adolescent work shifts were just as conducive to distraction, but one day, a simple throwaway scene sank its teeth in. A psychologist visiting a prison inmate gets picked up by the neck and slammed into a wall. For some reason, I couldn’t get the image out of my head. Who was the prisoner and how was he so strong? Why was a psychologist visiting him? What did he say that made him so mad?

The story built as a growing tree, wrapping rings around that initial core of concept. Each answered question spawned new ones until I had something I needed to put down on paper. At the end of that summer, I followed through on my plan to move home and figure out what I was doing with my life. As soon as I got there, I started plotting the story. I read all the writing magazines available at the time and took meticulous notes on the articles on craft. They said to write every day, so I did. I blew off friends, skipped out on parties. Became a writing asshole. Within six months, I finished the first draft.

They were the infant days of the internet, and I was 21. It’s important to remember that when I tell you how hard I tripped and fell flat on my face. I believed in my work and used the phrase “artistic license” much more than anyone ever should. I searched for an agent and found one fast, as if this was the destiny I’d suspected all along. Now, you get the advice everywhere you turn: never pay an agent in advance. The reputable ones work off of a percentage of the deal they negotiate for you after taking on the stress of finding your work a home. Mine didn’t.

Instead, he sent me brochures on self-publishing. That was it. Maybe he made some calls first so he could claim he put in some effort. If he was still alive, I’d share his name to warn off anyone else as gullible as I was, but writing this post made me curious, so I looked him up to find out he suffered from mental issues that cost him his life. I sincerely hate that’s how it went for him.

Impatience and impulsiveness have plagued my writing career, as you’ll see through these blog posts. Though I’d been conned, it didn’t dent the idea this was my calling and that I was ready. One bad actor killed my trust in the idea of traditional publishing, but I’d now heard of self-publishing. It was a perfect storm.

Back then, print on demand worked a little differently. You paid an upfront fee (a concept I was familiar with already), and for it, you got an initial print run and a dedicated online storefront through the publisher’s website. I was so confident it was going to take the world by storm, I didn’t consider how people would find it or even know how to look for it. Word of mouth was about to make me the next Stephen King.

The Road Cain Walks (© 2003) front cover

The Road Cain Walks (© 2003) back cover

I’ve never hated the work it takes to get a book ready for printing. My first job out of college (when I finally graduated) was for the self-publishing arm of a medical society. Despite the number of hours it takes to format, proof, and revise, the book was my child at that point, so I did the best I could for it. The publisher provided a tutorial, and my girlfriend (now wife) designed the front cover. Her ex-boyfriend, who was formerly one of my closest friends, designed the one on the back. When I get better at this, I’ll upload both images.

I was proud of how it turned out. In a lot of ways, I still am. It gave me something to work toward and strive for. After it was printed, I sold enough copies to cover the cost of the initial print run, but that was about it. It’s not the end of the story, but I’ll end it here and save the next part for a future post. All I’ll say is you can’t find it for sale anymore.

But you will be able to find it here. The point of this blog is to show you where I went wrong and what I’ve learned. One of those lessons you learn along the way is “show, don’t tell.” So, I’m going to show you the best way I can. Every week, I’m going to post a new chapter from this first attempt at a novel. Until I figure out a better way to go about it, you should be able to find it in the category menu on the main blog page (The Road Cain Walks (© 2003). I’m not going to edit a single misplaced comma or awkward phrase, though I’m sure it will be tempting. This is where I started.