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There were a lot of mornings when I woke up before dawn in the Rocky Mountain cold, bundled up under a heavy coat, scraped the thick armor of ice off my windshield and drove to a coffee shop to think about the Caribbean.
It was more than just pining for the warm splendor of beach and ocean. Instead, I spent about three hours before going to work at a local newspaper making all sorts of things up about an imaginary batch of islands and a group of people I sent from fantasyland to live there.
Being a journalist, I spent my days dealing with facts some tragic, some frustrating, some inspiring and some, just plain dull. But during the time before daybreak at the only coffee shop open in my small mountain town, I allowed myself to create my own facts.
And I wrote them down well, typed them into a series of laptops, and they became the novel I had always known I would write. It took several years, and it features reggae bands, revolutions, rocket ships and romance. Its called Down-Island View, and its about independence, identity and scuba diving. It was the epitome of a labor of love: over-caffeinated love, that is.
Dont look for it on Amazon its not even self-published yet. Only about three people have read it. Aside from my wife and my children, its among the most important things Ive ever done. Its something I had to do and thats why, whether it ever makes it to a Kindle or the shelves of Barnes & Noble, its close to my heart.
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