“What are your hopes and dreams for your book?”, he asked.

“I want to write it, have a publisher pick it up, and then let it go into the wide world beyond. Then… I want to sell one copy.”

“One copy?”

“One. I mean, I’d be thrilled to sell a bazgillion* copies, sure, but I hope and dream of selling ONE copy.”

“I don’t get it”

“I write for me, but I also know that I have an audience that I write for, too. I know that I’ve got some followers now, and that totally thrills and honours me. If I do get this book ripping through the printing press, the fact that someone wants to actually purchase it is pretty damn mind-blowing. I mean, I guess I have to sell two copies to make my hopes and dreams come true, because when my mom buys a copy, it kinda’ doesn’t count”. (No offense mom, but really, you put a piece of paper wet with glue and covered with sparkles and uncooked noodles on the fridge. You have to be proud of me, even if I make a tiny snowman out of cotton balls. It’s kinda’ what a mom does).

“So, you’re saying that you would like a stranger to buy your book. That’s it? That’s all you want?”


“That’s weird. That sounds kind of… lame”

“I don’t mind having lame dreams. It makes it an even better thrill when something bigger happens!”

“You’re pathologically optimistic.”

“I’m also a cheap date.”

“Oh, really? …wanna’ go out some time?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. I know this great place where we can go, drink beer and play a couple games of Battleship”

“Battleship? Like, the ‘You Sunk My Battleship!‘ Battleship?”

“Yep. It’s a dark little pub with too-loud music and too many TVs. But they have Battleship and cheap beer”

“I’m in! Wait… am I buying?”

“I haven’t sold a book yet, so I’m kinda’ broke. So yes, you’re buying.”

“Well, fair enough. Let’s go lift a glass to hopes, dreams and board games”

“It’d be a pleasure.”


*Bazgillion may or may not be a real number.