…at the gym, there was a poster that I would stare at as I ran on the spot. It was one of those life motto types – ‘SOME PEOPLE DREAM OF SUCCESS…WHILE OTHERS WAKE UP AND WORK HARD AT IT!’

 

Thankfully (because I never actually enjoyed all those hours on the treadmill), these days I don’t have to go to the gym to find such wisdom. I just check my Facebook page or Twitter feed. In between the cute kittens and comedy dogs, there’s usually something similar. The cynic in me just skims and moves on. It’s all just wallpaper, right?

 

Until…

Well, until I thought about how I’m here writing this.

It’s all about the journey.

 

From the age of about seven, I was what is now called a ‘precocious reader’. Back then, I was just a kid who loved books. One a day. Seven a week. Back and forth to the library. Each month, I needed something new and exciting. The books had to be longer, the covers more gripping, the vocabulary more challenging. I didn’t know why; it just felt right.

My uncle ran a small secondhand bookshop. It was Heaven. I was allowed to browse for hours, take home any that I wanted and never return them. They were his gift to me, because he loved those books even more than I did.

As I read more, I instinctively understood the power of the stories, the wonderful and magical way that the words transported me somewhere else, just by the simple act of joining one with another in sentences.

I convinced myself that I could write stories like the ones I loved, and do it so much better. Ah, the naive arrogance of youth.

But something stopped me from ever really trying. I had a million excuses why all those half-finished stories were just that. By now I was a husband and dad. My writing remained a secret, known only to my wife.

 

A couple of years ago, I finally finished a novel, a ghost story about the true nature of Peter Pan – demonic child snatcher and all round bad dude. If that sounds weird, feel free to spend a few evenings reading the original – JM Barrie knew how to do creepy. It was a good idea and I felt I had done it justice,  but I was still stuck in the dreamy bit of that old poster. I wasn’t that keen on the waking up. I might have to face the possibility that I wasn’t actually any good.

Luckily, my wife was having none of it.

‘You’re going to this,’ she said, passing over the laptop.

‘Winchester Writers’ Festival?’

‘Yeah. You get to meet agents. You tell them about your book. They like it and want to sign you up.’

Oh, I thought. Time to stop dreaming.

It was a blast. I met loads of incredibly friendly people. Everybody was supportive and interested. Some had been on the circuit for a while, looking for a bit of the magic to rub off. Most were like me – first timers, keen to impress.

The seminars and workshops taught me heaps. The one-to-ones were nerve wracking but enjoyable. Then it was nearly over. Just one more meeting with an agent.

I almost didn’t go. I was tired. I knew it would be a waste of time. Somehow, even after triple checking my choices, I had submitted my adult novel to a children’s agent. Nice one, Finian.

I sat down opposite him. It had clearly been a long day. He checked my name and smiled.

‘Ah, the Pan book.’

We clicked. Fifteen minutes passed in a flash. We chatted about books we both loved. He told me all about the agency. Then it was time to go.

‘I nearly forgot,’ he said, holding out his card. ‘I’m interested. Give me a call.’

I phoned him a week later. That was an interesting conversation. He wanted me to re-write the damn thing. As a children’s book. From the point of view of a character who didn’t yet exist.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I can do that.’ And I did.

The day he offered me representation was pretty special. I’d achieved something that many writers never do – the hint of a sniff of a possibility that a manuscript might be good enough (at some point) to be submitted to a publisher. I enjoyed a nice bottle of Rioja, allowed myself the briefest moment of self-congratulation, then started again with a different story – a more commercial idea, one that stood a better chance of publication. And wasn’t even written yet!

 

Two years on, I’m close. It’s been through endless re-writes and complete editorial reviews. My agent is a tough cookie. I badgered him to submit a while ago and he held his ground.

‘It’s ready when it’s ready. Enjoy the journey.’

He was right. It wasn’t ready then, but it flippin’ well is now. Submission is looming. I’m excited and terrified in equal measure. I’ve worked hard and loved every step. There’s still thousands of miles ahead.

I can’t wait.

So, I wonder if that cheesy poster is still up in the gym. I hope it is. Maybe another bored jogger is staring at it right now, ready to wake up.

Enjoy the journey.