I’m allowing myself a brief look back, a moment of reflection. I’ve just finished a novel titled ‘Waters of Oblivion – A Jock Boucher Thriller.’ It will be released in e-book format in two weeks. It’s a strange mixture of emotions I feel, the hesitancy in sending my offspring into the world to face friend or foe on its own, hoping I’ve given my progeny the tools to deal with the vicissitudes of a fickle public, offering faith and prayers for its acceptance. Knowing you’ve done your best doesn’t mean you couldn’t have done it different, and even now nagging thoughts about what I might have changed try to lodge themselves in my consciousness. These thoughts must be ignored. My baby has left home. It is no longer my own.
It seems such a long time ago that I began the novel. I recall the beginning. I had an idea for the theme, the use of light waves to replace radio frequencies for military data transfer, and it was so central to the plot I had planned to use it in the title. But a funny thing happened on the way to the ending, another theme inserted itself and it was a bull. I could have tried to grab it by the horns and wrestle it to the ground, but instead I jumped on its back and rode it to the buzzer. The book I began was not the book I finished. The two themes conjoined. The bull rode the light waves and the book became Waters of Oblivion.
What also goaded me on, my research into this new topic – which I cannot reveal here without giving too much away – included commentaries and dire, one might say apocalyptic, predictions from leading international political scientists. Furthermore, alarming headlines in the daily news reaffirmed how current was this theme I was addressing. The importance and timeliness of the subject definitely influenced my decision to get this thriller out there in e-book format as soon as possible, rather than wait the 12 – 18 months necessary for traditional hard cover or paperback production. Tomorrow’s headlines make for much better political thrillers than yesterday’s news.
Now it’s done, and I’m about to leap into yet another novel. Once again, I know my beginning, a lone skier’s deadly race down a snow-covered mountain. Once again, I have a challenging theme, and once again I have no clue how I’m going to fill 350-400 pages between beginning and end. But remember the story about the optimist, the boy who wades into a room full of manure yelling ‘There’s a pony in here somewhere.’ I waded into that room. I found a bull.