I now have in my possession a contract for two books with Flux, an edgy new imprint for teens. On this publishing agreement my name appears and is then followed by these words:
Hereinafter referred to as “Author”
Seeing those five words written after my name has been a dream of mine for decades. It was first a dream so big I put it in the better-to-never-try-than-fail category. Slowly, I circled around it and poked at it until it seemed less daunting. I took endless classes, read all the books, and then I started in earnest. Five years after I typed the first bits of this story I now have an amazing agent and a two-book deal with an editor I respect immensely.
I’m having trouble signing the contract. I ruffle through the glorious 18 pages and gaze at the Hereinafter sentence often, but I can’t get to the last page to sign it. I’m not sure, but I suspect it’s because writing my name on this contract—however small or large the books may turn out to be—will forever put me on the other side of this dream. And that’s a weird concept.
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