It had begun almost a year before. That's when I had had the idea, and when I had known I could do it. I had tried before, many times, so many times. I had started, but the idea had been half-formed, and before too long I had run out of steam, and faltered, and given up.
But this time I knew it would be different. Because this time the idea was fully formed. I could see it, in my mind's eye. I knew exactly what I had to do. I knew exactly how to do it. It was achievable, attainable, and it would satisfy an ambition which had festered within me for as long as I could remember.
I won't pretend it was easy. It was hard work. It required commitment. At some point I realised it was not something I could do part time. I had to quit my job, throw myself into it totally, immerse myself in it, and trust that when I came out the other end I would be able to find work again to keep body and soul together. But I knew it would be worth the effort, worth the risk.
Fast forward to this year. It is the end of January. I receive a phone call, at the office, in a whole other city at the company I started working for six months earlier. It has arrived. I leave the office, head home, and there is the van, offloading boxes in the street.
I sign my name on the form attached to the clipboard. I carry the boxes up three flights of stairs and into the door of my flat. I put them down in the living room and, pulling the first box towards me, I break the masking tape urgently, hurriedly, impatient now to see the fruits of all my labours. I pull the box open, almost tearing it apart. And I lift the first one out, hold it in my hand, gaze upon it in wonder. I can't believe what I am looking at. I can't believe that at long last, after all these years, it finally exists.
288 pages. With my name on the front cover.
Alan Sharp writes Random Burblings
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
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