In the hours, days, and months following the publication of my last book, I kept expecting to feel something; joy, achievement, or at least a sense of completion, but all I felt was a great weariness as if I had been climbing endlessly to reach a great mountain’s summit.
Recently, I approached my local bookstore, and I saw a man about ten yards ahead of me looking weirdly familiar. He was about my age, my height, and wearing a fearful frown.
He pushed open the door and, with great long strides, approached the counter.
“May I help you?” asked a girl with long, dark hair and big, brown eyes. She was in her early twenties, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers.
He stood before her as if collecting his thoughts. Then he said, “This store has changed a lot in the last few decades.”
She gave him a warm, outgoing smile, demonstrating that she had learned to be patient and understanding with her patrons. “We’re quite proud of our new facility. We have the latest games, toys, music, cards., and of course, books.”
“It used to be that bookstores were home to books,” he mused.
Ha, I thought, remembering the musty smell of old books stacked high on remote shelves within a maze of bookcases spaced so close together that only one person could walk through the aisle at a time.
She offered, “Is there something, in particular, you are looking for?”
Nervously, he stammered, “I’m looking for a copy of Connections. I’m the author, Peter Alesso.”
I was shocked when he spoke my name and asked for a copy of my book.
She keyed her computer but quickly gazed up at him. “That book is no longer available in our store, but I can search for it online.”
He looked hesitant.
She asked, “Can you give me a minute, please?”
His frown deepened. “Why don’t you carry my book?”
“I don’t know,” she said, perplexed. “I’m sorry.”
The words rang in my ears.
What was happening?
Who was this stranger who had taken my place in line, used my name, and claimed my book?
I felt like a fraud, as worthless as dirt. And when you’re that worthless, no one cares if you’re lost without a way home.
I dismissed the stranger and stepped forward, waiting for my life to snap back to normal.
Common sense told me, 'don’t pick a fight; you can’t win,' but stubbornness prevailed.
“My book has worth,” I declared. "Don’t you understand? You can’t cast my work away so disdainfully?”
She was stunned at my ranker, and so was I.
This was a new experience, but if experience is the fuel for writing, then I am a prime example.
For over twenty years, I immersed myself in the world of books, drawing from my background as a scientist at a national laboratory and a graduate of Annapolis Those two perspectives gave me a wealth of knowledge and personal encounters that have shaped my writing.
As a scientist, I explored physics and technology. This enabled me to create informative and insightful books, sharing my knowledge with readers who sought to expand their understanding in these areas—contributing to their intellectual growth while satisfying my passion.
Yet, it is my time as a naval officer that genuinely ignited my imagination and propelled me into science fiction. Serving on nuclear submarines during hot and cold wars, I witnessed firsthand the complexities and challenges of military operations that seamen face daily. This allowed me a unique perspective, which I channeled into creating a 22nd-century world where a space officer fought against invading aliens. Through this narrative, I explored the depths of human resilience, the mysteries of space, and the intricacies of military conflicts. My stories let me share the essence of my personal journey with my readers.
However, after twenty-five years as an author, I am at a crossroads. The exhilaration, emotional trauma, and dramatic events that once fueled my creativity have become remote. The well of inspiration that once overflowed now appears to be dry. It is a predicament, I believe, many authors eventually face. Making it necessary to seek new avenues to breathe life into their writing.
I told myself I should seek collaboration and connection with colleagues who may be potent sources of inspiration, but I know all too well what they would advise.
“Seek to embrace the unknown and venture into uncharted territories to open doors to fresh inspiration. Find adventure and travel in uncharted territories to open doors for original thought. Try exploring subjects or genres previously unknown for new wisdom to challenge the boundaries of creativity.”
That might be good advice for those ready for a renewal of life. But I know that is no easy task—to go back to the fork in the road and take the other path.
Alternatively, they might suggest that I return to the works of the masters. Reread the great novels of the past and learn their secrets anew. But that has always been my method, and I’m not sure if I missed that much the first time around.
Ultimately, as a seasoned author, I have come to realize that the depletion of inspiration is a natural part of the writing process. It is a challenge that demands exploration, adaptation, and a willingness to embrace new experiences. It demands that I venture into unexplored territories, connect with others, and appreciate the world around me. This may allow me to discover new sources of inspiration and embark on a fresh chapter of my writing journey.
In this pursuit of creativity, searching for a new fountain of youth for my words may never truly end.
