This past week I’ve come back to editing my novel yet again, after leaving it untouched for all of spring and summer while I waited to hear back from a literary agent to whom I’d sent the full manuscript. I’ve gotten some great feedback from friends who have read that latest version, and while I don’t think it makes sense to do sweeping cuts and rewrites and such right now, there are definitely some tweaks worth implementing before I start checking off more of my agent list. Gotta get more irons in the fire, as they say.
Since a big part of the reason I started Footbridge was to share the journey of Fatherboy, wherever it leads, I thought now might be a good time to show a tiny bit of the actual story. I’m going to start with the start, and another sentence much later on that always comes to mind when someone asks me what the book is about.
As a quick refresher before we dive in, the novel follows a 24-year-old son of immigrants who finds out he’s a father due to an accidental pregnancy. Here’s the first page-plus, where we meet him for the first time:
When Nathan found out he was a father, at first all he could think about was the turkey avocado melt he’d just made for lunch. It was the perfect mix of ingredients: thick cuts of oven-roasted turkey, two squares of sharp white cheddar, half of an avocado, and a light swab of mayo, all pressed between sliced sourdough into his aging George Foreman grill for three minutes to toasted perfection. Moments earlier, the sandwich had landed proudly on a chipped plate between seven baby carrots and a handful of original flavor kettle cooked chips. It was so bright, so full of promise. Now though, it looked dull and sad. It wilted as Nathan did under the weight of unexpected news.
Why? Why did he pick up the phone when it rang two bites into his delicious solitude? He could have screened the call. He could have eaten at the kitchen table of his San Francisco apartment in peace. He could have sent a text afterwards to see why Ariel, a woman he hadn’t heard from in 18 months, suddenly wanted to speak again. He could have continued to exist in a good mood, at least for the duration of his lunch. He could have held onto the blissful ignorance for just a bit longer.
Nathan didn’t do any of that, though. When he saw Ariel’s name pop up on his phone, he felt the back of his neck prickle and swallowed too fast. He looked around the room and wiped a sweaty palm on his cuffed khaki shorts. He accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.
“Hello?” he said.
“Hi Nathan,” she said. “How are you?”
Nathan cleared his throat. “Good. I’m good. How are you?”
“I’m also good.”
“Oh yeah? That’s good.”
“Listen…”
Nathan listened. Ariel’s pause dragged on for several seconds, as if she were carefully considering what to say.
“Nathan?” Ariel said finally. “Are you listening?”
Nathan turned his free hand upward. “Yes,” he said. “I’m listening. Is there a reason you’re calling? It’s…been a while.”
“There is. Sorry. I’ll just get to the point.” Ariel took a breath. “So. I’m calling because, well, I have a baby, and you’re the father. Biological father.”
If I’ve done a good job, you’re not pleased to be reading this sentence, and would much rather be reading the next sentence of the book. The first time I wrote that section was 7 years ago, back when I missed no opportunity to make sandwiches a core part of my personality. Can you tell?
Since then, I’ve probably rewritten the first paragraph a hundred times, and I’m not exaggerating. It feels so important—this is the hook. This is what’s supposed to set the tone, establish the terms of engagement, pull readers in. It very well could change another hundred times before I finally let it go. What won’t change, though, is the spirit of the book itself, which I think is best captured in one sentence about two-thirds of the way through.
He felt as if he’d been navigating the treacherous waters of an uncharted sea, only to be told he was actually wading in the shallow end of a cruise ship pool while wearing floaties.
This is basically what I wanted to write about when I got the idea for Fatherboy: a rough realization that the world is much bigger than you. It’s an image I’d love to play with if I get to the point of designing a book cover. I won’t tell you what happens between the first page and its appearance to bring the main character to such a mood, but I look forward to you finding out one day.
Anyway, that’s it for now! It’s hard to resist the urge to go into a lot more qualification, analysis, explanation, etc. I have a lot to say about it, but 99 percent of that is probably driven by a discomfort with vulnerability. So I’ll let the words speak for themselves and get back to the grind of getting them published eventually.
Thanks for reading.
More, more...give us more to read!!
I like the sandwich line, hope you keep it! I thought the first draft was great but it’s been fascinating to follow this text through all its permutations.