Seventeen years ago today I made the first scribbles in a salt n’ pepper notebook for a novel that I wanted to write…Washed Glass… it’s my first book. Not yet published. It will be some day, it’s there waiting it’s turn. I look back on that day that it came about as one of those special moments in my creative life…events had happened that set me on my path to do something I always wanted to do…I wanted more out of life. It’s the first book that I started to write and finished, even though had no clue what I was doing until it happened, writing longhand at first, then buying a laptop. I completed the first draft by October 29th…all 920 pages of it. (Holy shit.) Yes, it was a big convoluted mess, I did not know what I was doing. I did fine tuned it, but I have set it aside. I decided many years ago to let it wait for the right time. I needed to grow as a writer before I could go back to make it the way I envisioned it. From this first came the others, they’re all connected, a community of characters…yet, they can stand on their own. It takes a long time to write a book, to have the patience to see it through. Every year that passes, I remember how it was on that one day, how I felt when I first put pen to paper and changed my life. I’m grateful to have had this…this, whatever THIS is…this experience.
It scares me a little…but I’ll be fine.
I named the book after this piece of turquoise washed glass (sea glass) that I found on the beach at the National Seashore at Cape Cod on the weekend that I finished writing it.
Water meets sky in a symmetrical composition of blue. The intense cerulean aloft fades as it descends toward the sharp-edged horizon — below is an impressionist study comprised of reflected golden sunlight and shimmering continuous motion. The undulating surface mirrors the brilliant sky above and meshes with what lies below the surface, the color shifts from gray to blue to green. The polished cobblestones of muted hues clatter with a joyous laughter within the white-capped ridges that rush forward, as a final stroke onto a windy shore of light-capturing sand. The soft fringe of beach is strewn with prehistoric driftwood bones, and other peculiar artifacts that are brought forth, or reclaimed by the waves. Patience and a practiced eye will catch sight of colored gems hidden amongst the sand, stones, and waves. Broken shards, reshaped by the elements and time, once considered refuse, are now seen as precious and rare to find. Beach glass, sea glass, washed glass, betrayed by its transparent nature, revealed in sunlight among common pebbles, they become treasure found or forever lost, crushed by stones and smoothed by water—they regress into grains of sand, they evolve and return to whence they came. – from page 1 of Washed Glass