In a continuing series of features from our authors, Lawrence Kelter writes about the Elusive Pot of Gold at the End of the Rainbow.
Did you ever want something so badly you could taste it? Of course you have. Who hasn’t? I was afraid of heights, so I never dreamed of being an astronaut. But like any other kid, I dreamed of playing major league ball, shredding lead guitar in a rock band, racing at Le Mans, and any number of other pursuits I was not meant to succeed at—a bitter pill for any young man to swallow.
Then along came the personal computer, and BAM, I was back in the game.
Now, my story is probably not much different than any of yours. I wanted to write the Great American Novel.
And I did.
Repeatedly, in fact.
At least I thought I had. But few agreed with me. All right, it wasn’t all that bleak. Along with a shoebox full of rejection letters, there were acceptances from agents and a smattering of publishing deals.
But not enough to make a career of it.
My accountant called it a hobby, a remark he paid for with a swift beheading.