I was recently on a plane ride from my city to a much less populated one. The plane was less than a third full even though it was a smaller plane. In fact I believe there were only 12 passengers total. The number people is irrelevent to the story, but what it did mean is that each person got to sit in their own row alone, if they so choosed.

I was alone. I sat next to the window as I always do. Planes don’t frighten me. Flight doesn’t frighten me. If the plane shook violently in horendous turbulence you’d likely see me laughing. Next to me the seat was empty. Across from me the other isle seat was also empty. At the far end of my row, however, was an attractive, long haired brunette with big sparkling eyes and posh looking boots. She was cute. Very cute. Not someone I would approach however as it looked to me that she was at best in her 2nd year of college at most. She drew my attention quite easily and made the rest of the flight a test of wills. I had to do my best to try not to steal glimpses without being too creepy.

After take off, the lights dimmed as it was a night flight. Most of the passengers had turned to close their eyes and sneak a quick nap in but the cute brunette not 6ft from me hadn’t. Instead she had her reading light on and had just produced a book that she planned to read. Looking only out of the corner of my eye I could immediately identify the cover and had to stifle a chuckle. It was, of course, 50 Shades of Grey. For the rest of the flight as I stole my glimpses I watched to see how fast she was reading. What her expression was. Did she shift in her seat. Did she smile, smirk, bite her lip and continue to read. I was fascinated to know what she thought of this silly book.

The thought then dawned on me. That I very much wished that was my book. Not that I wish I had wrote 50 Shades, because I’ve become aware that it’s not written particularly well. I wished that it was my book. My own book. I wished that the mischievous grin on her face was placed there because of my clever writing. The change in posture, the uncrossing and recrossing of legs was because of the delicious pictures that I have painted with my words. I wished that I could look over at the cute little brunette, smile, and say “Would you like me to sign your book?”

It’s now the third month of the year. To date I have not missed a week deadline for the continuing chapters of the book I’m working on. In general I’m still able to put down 4000+ words on the page each week. This inspite of my “real” life obligations.

Will I be published? I certainly hope so.

Will I go further than 50 Shades? Probably not, but who knows!

I have this vision in my mind’s eye about where this ride will take me and it seems so tangible and reachable. Pressure and time…that’s all it takes….just pressure and time…



02 27 2013

A small amendment to the previous story. The cute brunette I spoke of came back on the same flight as me. She was still reading her 50 shades of grey book. The book already looked bent and worn. The type of look a paperback gets if the owner reads it voraciously. Bending the covers and breaking the spine as they dive into the story. Perhaps she enjoyed the story. Perhaps she was a twi-hard. Or perhaps, and this is the version I prefer to hold onto, she simply enjoys reading about eroticism and sex.


Still the pervasive thought of the moment is how much better this small moment would have been if I was looking over at her and seeing the cover of my own book. I have found that this is something that drives me. It is something I will make happen.



3 thoughts on “#Thoughts

  1. 50 Shades is poorly written as you say. A better book along the same lines, ironically, is called “In Flight” by R. K. Lilley. My favorite, however, is by a man, of which you don’t find too many (That’s why you need to get published). It’s called “Gabriel’s Inferno” by Sylvain Reynard.


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