Hello, friends.
This week’s newsletter is coming in a little late because I was at a book signing event with authors Derek Mola, John Lynch, Brennan LaFarro, and Barry Lee Dejasu. It was a fun though a slow event. There were no signs up at the store and very little publicity, so I’m not surprised. I’ll write a little more about the signing in today’s essay, though it’s not really about the signing.
I was finally able to do some writing this week. Not a ton but some, and it felt good. It’s always good when the stories are still there, waiting.
I slept the wrong way Thursday night and by Friday night, my right shoulder hurt so bad. I woke up a little after four Saturday morning because of the pain and was a little out of it for the event. The shoulder feels mostly better now, though.
Welcome to the 142nd installment of Gauthic Times, the newsletter about my writing, my life, and realizing your childhood self would be happy with you. If you’re a reader who subscribes via Substack, my website, or Patreon, your encouragement helps motivate me. I’m not breaking any records but I’m thankful to have any audience.
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I only really got to write Thursday and Friday nights, adding almost 700 words to Project: Moons. There’s always a little bit of trepidation when returning to a project that you haven’t that you might’ve lost the thread of the story, but I’ve found that’s never really the case. The story is there, waiting to be excavated, and that feels really good. Unfortunately, distractions seem to be the next biggest issue after exhaustion, and I need to fix that. Easy enough to do.
***
I sat at the table in the Barnes & Noble with my books stacked in front of me, the bookmarks I’d designed and had printed slightly fanned. Four other authors sat at tables that formed an L. A woman came up and engaged in some nice chit-chatter and then grabbed Shadowed and asked me to sign it. This was the second book I’d done this for that day and it made me smile.
I returned to that moment the following day (this morning as I write this) as I sat with my father, taking care of his medications for this week, taking his grocery order, and just spending time with him.
“You’ve been doin’ this a long time,” he said at one point. “You were, what? Twelve? Thirteen?”
“Thirteen,” I said.
“I remember when you’d sit at your typewriter and use one finger.” He mimicked typing with one finger. “You’d do that for hours. And now here you are.”
I smiled. “Yeah. Billy is happy.”
That’s how I think about things sometimes. What would my childhood self think about something I’m doing or have done? I remember taking the Royal Quiet De Luxe and placing it on a wood board on top of two or three milk crates (I tried both two and three but can’t remember what I went with until I commandeered the family card/game table) and clacked away with one finger. I wrote this way until I was 14 and got my first electric typewriter. Then I used two fingers.
But that acknowledgment was sweet and it was true. I’ve been writing a long time. While speaking with one of the other authors at the event yesterday, he asked how long I’d been writing and publishing. The number shocked me.
My first story publication was in February 1999. That’s 26 years ago.
What?
How the hell could I have been publishing for 26 years?! Even my first pro sale is 22 years old! My first book publication was 18 years ago! I feel like the longest working new writer around.
The thing is, sitting there with those books in front of me, books I remember writing, stories that still live in me, books with my name on the covers, made that 13-year-old Billy happy. I didn’t sell many books at all. It cost me more to do the whole thing than I made. Yet, it still feels like a win. How can it not? When I was setting up those milk crates and placing that old typewriter on them, I dreamed that maybe someday I’d have a book with my name and maybe sit at a bookstore with said book in front of me ready to sign it for anyone who asks.
So often, the life I’ve chosen doesn’t feel right. It feels like a lot of work for little return. That’s when I have to remind myself that my childhood self would be so thrilled.
Harlan Ellison’s definition for success was “achieving in adult terms that which you longed for as a child.” I’ve always liked that and would add that being a person your child self would think was cool. In that regard, I’ve succeeded.
It’s important to remind oneself of these kinds of successes, especially when the world has become so gray and difficult. I think that if Billy saw my wife and kids, saw how well-regarded I am as a teacher by so many former students, see the terrific action figure, Lego, and comic book collections I’ve amassed, and see those books with an older version of his name on them, he would be very happy.
And that makes the struggle worth it.
***
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Gautham: Bill Gauthier.com 
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