Since I was a child, my world has revolved around telling a story. Whether it is a matter of telling a joke, or telling what happened when the rooster attacked my girl cousin when she was a small child and then the hired man on my uncle’s farm killed that rooster with a shotgun blast that made us all jump and turned the rooster in a cloud of feathers and chicken vapor, or making up stories about the secret underground river we could access through Grandpa and Grandma’s cellar, I was always practicing making other people see in their imagination what was playing in the theater of my little mind.
And long about the time I started going to school, I added to my storytelling an ability to draw pictures of the things I was telling about.
So, now that I am older than the oldest donkey that ever lived, I have to take a moment or two to reflect on where those abilities have taken me.
Well, I am not a millionaire like Stephen King.
In fact, it would take me more than a million dollars to be a millionaire because that’s how debt and credit cards and Bank-o Merricka work.
But I have wealth in other ways.
This is a review on the… well, not the first novel I ever finished, There was that awful pirates-meet-demons-and-fairies thing that is too embarrassing to even talk about. And not the first novel I published. I published Aeroquest, Catch a Falling Star, Star Dancers and Space Lizards, and Snow Babies before it. It’s not the worst novel I ever wrote. And it certainly isn’t my best novel. But it is the first novel about the Norwall Pirates, liats’ club and softball team.
And apparently at least one reader liked it five stars worth.
But it also proves that even what is clearly not my best storytelling work is capable of being read and liked by intelligent readers. That is a kind of treasure.
And this blog is doing well too. This is my 168th straight days with at least one blog post. And before I published this, my blog had 188 views just today, while averaging well over 100 views per day this week.
So, as Mickey writes, he continues to operate under the delusion that he is a good writer. And maybe, just maybe… he’s not the only one who thinks so.