Literary Genius Unleashed

The arid breeze blowing across his sunburned skin felt refreshing - almost invigorating. He would miss it, but he knew it would be less than a week until he returned (or none of this would matter anyway). The pump clicked to a stop, and he jogged into the service station to pay with cash; no more credit cards, not after what he had learned over the past 30-something hours. In a matter of a few more hours, he would be half way across Colorado, traveling along the western edge of the great, defining mountain range that served to divide America in two, as he continued his northward journey to the place where Keuka’s age-old verbal map told him to branch off toward his crucial destination. Luke had written the old one’s words down as best as he could recall them on a scrap of paper found on the rear floorboard of the car, but he could not be completely certain that he had them right: “It was there that your people’s arrogance showed that they were not ready to accept this great gift, along with its still greater responsibility. And so it was. Another time, another place perhaps, to demonstrate humility and restraint. You will know the place of the failed trial well, though not from its proper perspective.” No time to waste on worrying about the specifics; he had done his best to retain Keuka’s words exactly as they had been spoken, and he got them on paper as soon as he had the chance. And he could not even begin to consider the consequences of not reaching the place in time, or at all for that matter, as it would be too crushing of a burden for any one person to deal with. If only he had Karen back with him – THAT would be his focus.  [click for more]

What is this, you ask?
The beginning of a book, written just over 3 years ago.  There are 39 pages so far, and it was started on Father's Day 2005 because I had decided to sit down at the kitchen table and finally write a book.  After a week or two of making myself write for at least 15 minutes a day, I took a break and haven't gone back to it since.
Is it good?  Does it matter?  Don't pay attention to the post's title, by the way - if I actually thought it was a display of literary genius, I would be far too modest to proclaim it as such!  I LOVED writing what I wrote as it came to me, but something made me start thinking to myself after a couple of weeks into the effort, "this is not that great," and I stopped.
I'm going to start again.