I write for the enjoyment of my readers. Period.
To spend hundreds of hours in creating a novel and not have it read by another person is, to put it simply, a travesty and a colossal waste of time. At the other end of the pole, to have it read and enjoyed by one person is not only exhilarating, but also makes the task worthwhile. To create joy in the life of just a single individual is in itself a reason to celebrate.
When I write a novel, I undertake a formidable mission of gripping the reader’s imagination and transporting it to experience times, places and events that know no bounds. The reader becomes immersed in a world that is not only a figment of my imagination, but also that of the reader. In this surreal world of not only what was but also what could have been, the reader loses self in feelings of sensuality, passion, love, fear, morality, ethics, religiosity, and the like, and becomes deeply involved in both the experiences of the mind and of the heart.
As best I can recall, I became addicted to the smell of new books when I was about ten. From then on, my experience, has been a state of rapture upon opening a new book for the first time. Strangely enough, for whatever reason, I determined from that first experience that at some point in my life, sooner or later, I wanted to write books.
Imagine my shock when I recently learned that the smell of a new book emanates from the chemicals applied to the printing and binding of that book. I was forced to pull my horns back in and actually admit that I must have been from a very early age some sort of “druggie”; a “hippie”, perhaps long before the “flower child movement’ began. This is especially weird from a Jamaican who has never touched a “ganja reefer”, or, for that matter, ever even seen a leaf of marijuana in real life.
The chemical theory was recently substantiated by my wife Geri. She reminded me of that glorious smell that we experience when we enter a brand new vehicle. What do you think that is? She asked. Simple answer, she said, answering her own question; the chemicals.
At the end of the day let’s put it this way. I have no regrets, no apologies, for my love of the smell of new books, however that love was acquired. The young love set me on my path toward what I do today. Writing novels for the enjoyment of my readers.