I waited almost a life to write a book, and now, here I am - a writer.
And the big surprise was this: the reaction from my friends was fabulous, they could not believe it; their congratulations seemed to me to be sincere (I still have to find out how many bought the book and actually read it). The cool headed IT guy, enjoying adventurous trips, now a grandpa, dared to step into the unknown and wrote a sci-fi book.
My friends are wrong: I am not cool-headed; I have my demons, but probably I hide them well. Based on reactions from my colleagues and bosses in the office I am performing well as a techy guy, but always I am afraid I did not do the best. Sometimes I say something that I regret, and because of that I do not sleep well at night; I feel I have to shout when I see around me so much indifference, hate, intolerance and ignorance but I say nothing. I see the good struggling and the bad flourishing.
I had to spell it out in a way; it is a sci-fi book. But my demons do not take breaks; I am afraid now that some of the ideas in the book might hurt feelings; but it cannot be otherwise; either you keep your mouth shut, either you say it and wait for the punches.
And there is something else my friends do not know: the book is not completely out of the blue. In high school my literature teacher hated me, because I told her I will follow a high tech career (for her, those individuals dreaming to become engineers were senseless, half robots)… but still, when we had to write essays… mine was almost always picked-up by my teacher and read it to the class. Ahhh those years… I had to compensate the male competition from my everyday-go-to-gym colleagues; believe me, most of the time few nice words on a tiny sheet of paper is heavier than 100 kg of muscles. Do you guys know my regret now? I wrote a letter to my literature teacher but never handed it over.