My first book was a compilation. An aggregation of my blog posts. I edited it countless times. Paid an editor to do same. Sent it to family and friends to edit and make their input. I put it out for publishing, and immediately after receiving the first printed copies, I hated it. It has stayed in my drafts since. The book was called “Evening Odds”.
I wondered why I flipped, considering it was my most exciting project of 2020. I wondered for a long time why something that brought so much joy and energy to my days, now seemed meaningless.
Then I figured it out. I did not want my first book to be a compilation of blog posts. I want my first book to be a story.
Stories were my first pull towards reading. To pay back the great writers that planted my eyes to pages, and opened my mind to possibilities, I needed to write a story that would honor them.
So I started this year with writing at least 5 pages of a story every weekend. The project is code-named “37.” I am now on page 115. It is the story of a middle-aged conflicted working class man.
I have let in a few friends and family to read early drafts. Many say it reads like an autobiography. It is anything but an autobiography. However, I can understand why many think so. There are parts of me within.
I still have a copy of “Evening Odds” on my table. It is a constant reminder that no matter how passionate I am about a project, it might one day mean nothing to me.
Best to always have fun along the way. I am having fun with “37”.
– Osasu Oviawe
