Coffee Novelist

I was finally able to revise and upgrade the cover of my first novel, Tripio. It had been bugging me for years, like something your doctor would mention at your yearly check-up. Not life threatening, or even painful, but maybe you should do something about it. And so, the process never made it to the top of the pile of things I needed to do.

The term book industry folks would use to describe Tripio is a passion project. Fine. Tripio is a very personal novel. I like to say that I would have never published it if I knew what I was doing. Yes, the spelling of my name is correct, the title is legible, the graphics are clearer, the interior type larger and better, and there is formatted front and back matter. All of that helps. It may help even sell a book or two.

But I had to do the revamp mostly because it is my story told as openly and honestly as I could at the time. Sure, I like to compare Tripio to Knut Hamsum’s amazing novel, Hunger, one of my favorite books of all time. And Tripio does resemble the story of Hunger, a century later and moved to Chicago. Tripio captures a defining time in my life, and I wrote it at an equally defining time in my life. A double dose of me. Which is not a great way to sell a book, I’m sure. Nonetheless, Tripio is not the story of Starbucks, or Knut Hamsun, Howard Schultz or anyone else. It is me in those pages and that is why I had to make it better.

Once the upgrade was complete and accepted by Amazon, not as easy as it sounds, I felt relieved. It was done and I could see that it looked way, way better. Books are never done. Books, written and read, are energy between covers, revised and otherwise. One bit of energy still flowing from Tripio is what my life would be like if I stayed at Starbucks with my 264 shares of IPO stock options with its Current value of 1.23 million dollars.

A few days after the revision I found myself pondering that question again on a long drive for my job. My five senses are always occupied with this bi-weekly nearly two-hour drive, so my mind is free to think. I must point out that my intention on most mornings before this and any other long drive is to “put the novel in my head”. I have some coffee at my laptop and write at least enough to let my mind work on the novel while I drive. Well, I’ve been on a writing sabbatical for close to a month, so I had no novel to put in my head. Or so I thought. As I said, no novel is ever finished. It can’t be. Energy has no end. The Tripio question was back although not in the same way. Why didn’t’ I stay at Starbucks and retire early and rich? Why?

I realized once again that I’ve mostly answered that Starbucks question mostly by writing Tripio. With that space in my mind now opened, I’ve put in some self-forgiveness for not being able to change the past and some understanding that your past is never the future when you create it in the present. If that makes sense. I have released that and lot more by writing Tripio. That is the value of the book to me. Not what is represented on a sales chart on Amazon or elsewhere. No one can see that when they look at the sales figures and they won’t see that in the reboot either. 

That question settled, I still had windshield time to work on a second bit of energy regenerated by the Tripio reboot. In Hunger and Tripio, both protagonists want to make a living writing. Decades after living Tripio and nearly a decade after writing it, I am not making a living solely by writing. Not even close. The Alliance of Independent Authors estimates that there are about 3,000 folks in the US who make their living by writing alone. That is not many. I am sure none of them meant to, but that day they all pissed me off.

I like my job well enough. It is not what I dreamt of doing when I was growing up of course. I wanted to play second base for the Cincinnati Reds. But, I have nights and weekends off and the job doesn’t ask a lot of me. It doesn’t give me a lot back in return monetarily but my mind is free to write as I go through my day and my drives. But I can’t make my living my writing alone. There’s three thousand of you. What’s one more?

A few minutes into my first stop after my long drive I found the answer to the headline for this post when an employee of the long-term rehab facility I was servicing asked me about my job. She asked me what I did. I told her.  Did I like it? I said I did. She asked me if my job was better than wipin’ ass. I replied that yes, it is.

Needless to say, I used that Tripio related energy to enjoy the drive back a lot more than the drive to that first stop. The gal in the pink scrubs hadn’t meant to, but she made my day.  My job is better than wipin’ ass for a living. My tax return may not show it, and I may not be Stephen King, but my life is overflowing with blessings. I have a great life, filled with riches that will never, ever find their way onto sales charts or into bank accounts.