It’s no secret that I have always been a dreamer. I see things as they should be, and not how they are in reality. I have been this way for as long as I can remember. That and the fact I grew up invisible helped define who I am. However, in real life dreamers and those that shun reality don’t make it too far in today’s society. Lately I have been hit head-on with a dream shattering dose of reality. My snug little world has been torn asunder, and I am having trouble with dealing with it.
I started my profession in 1969 as a means to earn spending money as I forged myself through school. I only intended on staying at this profession for a short while. I knew after school I would make my mark on the world. I graduated but remained at my job until a competent replacement could be found. For some reason the duties of my job came natural to me, I was a savant. It really didn’t take long to find a willing body with enough fortitude to be trained at my duties, so I was free to pursue my dream of making a mark in the world. Problem was I really enjoyed what I was doing; it gave me a sense of accomplishment. I was young, I still had so many years ahead of me to make my mark.
One year became two, two years became ten, and ten years became forty. I had spent forty years in a profession I had only planned on spending two years in and still no mark on the world. Towards the middle of my fortieth year I began writing my first book, Tenebrae, I knew at the time that book would be my mark. It is such a great story, there is no way professionals in the publishing community could ignore such a gem. Wrong! I was so naïve to think all you need is a great story and the world would beat a path to your door. See that’s the dreamer in me.
Rejection after rejection came. I kept hearing from those who volunteered to read my book how great it was. My dream was still intact, for the time being.
Dreams have a way of altering one’s mind. I got the silly notion that if Tenebrae wasn’t going to make my mark on the world that I would write o book that would. The Last Chance was born. Surely this would make my mark. Wrong! I still get rave reviews for both books. I still can’t see why professionals in the publishing business can’t see what other readers see. I have even started writing the sequel to Tenebrae, but I have no illusions that this will be the book that leaves a mark on the world. It is just another book that no one will ever read.
I still query Tenebrae, I still get nothing but rejections. I still hear nothing but good reviews about the chapters I have posted here. But I don’t dream anymore. I no longer see things as they should be. I see things in the harsh nakedness of the real world.
I know I am not alone in this wilderness of vanquished dreams. I am not the only one fighting a losing battle to hold onto some vestige of dignity. I struggle daily to keep at least one dream alive.
There is a great song from Man of Lamancha, to dream the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe. I don’t know about you, but the impossible dream is still elusive. To me the unbeatable foe is the economy, and it is kicking my butt.
Well, there you have the ranting of a reformed dreamer who has all but given up on making his mark on the world.
Tonight, when you wish upon that star, wish a wish for me,