No, thankfully, not my car. Mostly because I don’t have a car.
Recently, I was thinking about my first effort at writing a book. It was successful in the sense that a book-length number of words were put down on paper, but that’s about it. The story was a mess, with more plot threads than high-end bed sheets, half of them going nowhere. The characters were better, but not by much. They main characters were fairly deep, just not interesting enough to lead a story. Minor characters were based off people I knew to the point it could have been libelous. And let’s just say I had no idea about pacing and leave it at that.
Still, even though I’ll never let it look at the light of day again, I look back at it fondly. I may not have known what I was doing, but I had fun immersing myself in a world of my own creation and with which I could do anything. Creating, dreaming, imagining…I tell you, no drug could replicate the joys of being lost in your own mind.
It’s sad that there probably isn’t anything I could do with all those words (trust me on this) and people and stories. Elements may be reused someday, but the meat of the book is a total loss. Now, I’m not saying it was a waste of time. Far from it. I learned a lot while writing it and the idea of getting it published pushed me to learn even more.
So there is meaning in everything. Writers out there: what did you learn from your first story? Do you believe it could be published, with or without heavy rewrites?