|This is Dubble on its final day of revision, along with|
my book of notes and my William Faulkner coffee mug,
which has been there as a good luck charm for all my books
One hour and ten minutes ago, I called my wife upstairs to my office where I sat at my computer. "Give me your hand."
"What are you--?" she said, then stopped when she looked at the screen.
I took her hand and together we clicked the cursor over the email Send button. And, just like that, my final draft of Dubble was on its way to my agent, Nat Sobel. I wanted Jean to share this moment with me because the book is as much hers as it is mine (though she hasn't yet read any of it). Together, we have lived for nearly 20 years with this story about a 20-year-old stuntman in 1940s Hollywood. Two decades. It hardly seems possible, and yet when I look back at my journal, I find a single entry for May 18, 1993: "Started Dubble today."
(I just realized that my character, David Dubble, has literally grown to maturity on my keyboard.)
Of course, what I just sent Nat bears little resemblance to that first idea hatched out of my lifelong obsession with classic movies, but I'm proud of how it has developed over the years. There's no guarantee this will be the next book of mine to see print (fingers and toes are all crossed), but I'm happy with what I've done on the page. And now I can sit back with the satisfaction that comes with completing a life-long work.
In fact, I'm so happy, I think I'll go watch a movie.