Having recently published a novel (What Happens to Us, http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DSSN5SU), I’ve been fascinated by recent success stories such as Amanda Hocking. She’s the 27-year-old who self-published her vampire romance novels in ebook format and earned $1.5 million in just one year. It is so unlikely that it reminds me of something that happened when I was four years old.
While in the backyard, I saw a ladder resting against the side of the house. My Mom wasn’t around, so I went over and started to climb it. I remember thinking that, contrary to what my mother had told me, climbing a ladder was easy: You just put the next foot up and up and up. I was good at it.
Pretty soon, I reached the roof. I pulled myself up, sat on the roof, and surveyed it all. The view was amazing. Everything looked different up there, all rooftops, treetops, and antennas.
When I was done, I made my way back down. Easy. Backwards, one step at a time, no problem. As miraculously as it may sound–I mean, a 4-year-old climbing up to the roof–it all happened without a mishap.
That strikes me as an apt metaphor for what Amanda Hocking did, climbing a ladder that nobody thought she had the ability, platform, or wherewithal to climb. And making it to the top without falling.
As for my little adventure, I casually dropped a bomb that evening at dinner.
“The world looks different from up on the roof,” I said.
My mother slowly turned her head.
“Up on the roof? When did you go up on the roof?”
“Today,” I said proudly. “I climbed the ladder.”
It was my father who got the blame, leaving the ladder still leaning against the side of the building. Now, I wonder who gets the blame for Amanda Hocking’s storied ascent.