Today I thought I'd share a personal memory. Something I've tried to forget, but that I can't deny was a defining moment. It was the very first book I wrote, written out by me, illustrated by me, and bound with brass clips by my loving mother. Today, you get to hear the story of Super Gecko.
Fortunately for the world at large, there are no surviving copies of Super Gecko. I was, eh... five? So illustration was not my strong point, nor was a cohesive story. Still, for whatever reason, I insisted that anything I write have humor. I thought it was hilarious. Also, I'm stalling. Okay... let's do this.
Super Gecko. The story of an ordinary gecko in the (Arizona?) desert. I can't remember his name, though I strongly suspect it was Gary. Our brave protagonist wandered one day into house. Somehow evading the notice of the humans that lived there, he made his way to living room where a television was on. On the screen our bold hero saw something that would change his life forever. Superman. Or at least, I alluded to that. Fairly subtlety, for a five year old, too. After taking in the concept of a flying hero saving the day, our reptilian hero made his way to a child's bedroom, filled with toys, where he stole a cape and mask off some actions figures and became.... dun, dun, dun... Super Gecko.
Somehow between this scene and the next, an entire civilization of desert critters sprang up, complete with tiny buildings and cars. And a crime lord gila monster named, of course, Cigar Gila. Why yes, he did smoke a comically oversized cigar.
So, as I recall, this city had no crime and Super Gecko had nothing to do except upset old lady geckos who would proceed to pull off their tails and beat him with it. Yes. I learned that fact and made sure it made it into my story. I... don't think there was actually an incident that triggered the confrontation between Cigar Gila and Super Gecko, but they fought and Super Gecko lost. Badly. So of course, Super Gecko's mother saves the day, beats up Cigar Gila, and gives her son a lollipop. The End.
Now we will never speak of this again. It was just a.. a really weird part of my childhood. But the point is, even back then I knew I wanted to write. Instead of watching cartoons, I sat at my mom's computer, typed in C:/WP run and up came Word Perfect. My little fingers slid in a 3.5 floppy disk filled with all my stories. I wrote. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. Heck, sometimes I even printed. With the cursive font on the print. The top feed, ridges on the side printer. Now, here I am. Blogging about that time so long ago.
It's been a long time coming, but each day brings me closer to seeing my hard work, my sweat and tears, my hardships and joys, all these and more released to the world. And while my mom and day aren't around anymore to bind it in brass fasteners, I'd like to think they'd be just as proud to see my work in print.
Hey. Be excellent to each other.
Keep your eyes open for my debut novel, The Paladin.