Nobody may ever read this, and that’s A-OK.

Here’s a little story about why I am 100% A-OK if no one ever buys one of my books.

Many moons and a lifetime ago, I was on a film set in the middle of the southern Ohio backwoods in August. The humidity was thick enough to cut with a knife, but the recluse spiders, poison ivy, and snakes required heavy boots and long pants. I was further weighed down by a thick script binder, a carpenters apron filled with pens, pencils, bug spray, sunscreen, and bottled water, and a heavy stopwatch around my neck.

A young production assistant was waiting near me as the cinematographer set up a complex battle sequence that crested over a hilltop and raced downward toward the camera. He complained about the heat and the wait, and mused about sneaking off to the craft services tent for more cold drinks and a fan.

“If you’re so miserable, why are you here?”

He had the grace to seem a little chagrined.

I chuckled.

“Seriously, you’re an unpaid intern who is here to pad his resume, right? So, if you’re miserable, leave. Because for every one of you, there are 10 other people who would pay us to have the privilege to be on this set making a movie.”

He is lucky no one else heard his snort.

“Two years ago, dude, I was you.” I continued.

“I knew I could make movies, but nobody knew me at all. So, I did what I had to do to get the work I wanted. I offered my costume and make-up services free of charge on the first two projects I did.”

“But you’re not doing costumes here. And you’re definitely getting paid.” He aptly stated the obvious.

“That’s right. Those skills got my foot in the door, and because I was always ready to pitch in, everyone realized I was more than a designer. Since then I’ve been a paid producer, director, and was recruited to script supervise on this one.”

So, let me ask you a question: What are you willing to pay someone for the opportunity to do? Even if you know that no one will know or care who you are or what you did. What excites you enough that you’d plunk down hard money just to be a part of?”

“Well, making movies.” He replied.

“Congratulations! You’ve just found out what you want to do with your life.”

Fast forward a lifetime, and then, as now, I toil away in obscurity, happy as a clam for the chance to tell my little stories and entertain someone for a while.

Because writing is just the same as movie making: I’d pay a fortune for the chance to craft a story, to set a scene, to hopefully make your mind race and your heart beat a little faster.

So, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking a minute to read this, and when my books “hit the shelves,” maybe you’ll decide to pick one up.