I saw the corners of his mouth turn into a smile as I handed it over. One hundred and eighty-two pages of eight and a half by eleven paper covered by eighty-two thousand, six hundred and fifty words of a story I crafted were turned over to my fourteen year old nephew so he could be the first person, besides myself, to read the book in its entirety.
My nephew, like me, loves to read and even though his calendar age may prove that he is only fourteen, he reads far beyond his age. I could think of nobody more suited for the role of first reader than him and I was happy to hand the pages over to him.
My dad was a voracious reader as well. Although the premise of my story may not have been something my dad would have eagerly pulled from the book shelf, he would have been my biggest fan. It is bitter-sweet knowing how proud he would have been of my accomplishment but knowing that I can never hear those words come from him. I know he is up there somewhere giving me a thumbs up and doing his best to encourage a literary agent to take a chance on me.
As much as I sit here, nervously awaiting the outcome of the first read-through, I anxiously anticipate feedback on the story. I’m sure Dean Koontz or Stephen King never batted a thousand on their first at-bats so I’m expecting to take many more swings before I knock it out of the park. I just want to make sure I stay in the game!