Lawrence Looks for Treasure

Part 3

So there you have it, Ms. Snarch—the first novel I wrote. Any chance you'll publish it?

To be clear, the work is indeed fiction, not autobiography. It is true that I did not go to university. It is also true that my friends and I left town on bikes to recover lost treasure. It is even true that they abandoned the trip. The ordeal was so poorly planned, even more poorly executed, that they could not bear it any longer. However, I did not break them out of jail beforehand. That was a creative sprinkle I added to flavour the story. In hindsight, I'm not quite sure it fits the dish. But I dare not remove it now. I trust too much the author in his first throws of creativity. If he doesn't know best, who does?

Further, it is true that I journeyed to Snake Island myself, in a storm, no less. However, once there, I found no treasure. I returned to Max's cabin empty handed. And when I did return to his cabin, something far worse had occurred. Pastor Simes—that great good man whom you may remember from earlier chapters—had passed away.

He was driving back from Toronto late at night with his youngest son. A deer stood in the middle of the road. Pastor Simes swerved to avoid it and his car flipped. Both he and his son were in critical care for the night; both were pronounced dead in the morning. The entire camp went to the funeral. I went too. Chris, Matty and Ema were there. We all made up quite quickly. We were too shocked and saddened to let a few arguments during a treasure hunt get in the way.

I couldn't think of anyone more deserving of health, wealth and happiness than Pastor Simes. He had spent his life giving to others. And he died young, accidentally, just like that. There's the truth we all know, but pretend not to. Life is random. When we're on our journey, it's best to remember that. Little is up to us. Without hard work, we have no chance at all. But even with it, we don't have much.

Finally, it is true that, instead of university, I took the year to write my book. Though I didn't find the treasure, I wrote in my novel that I did. I wanted it to end well, like The Grand Adventure of Dmitri Waltz. Dmitri lived happily ever after. I thought I should too.

During the year off, I also worked for a landscaping company—shoveling dirt, planting trees, that kind of thing. However, I found writing the book far more laborious. It was the hardest work I'd ever done. The final product, we can both agree, is somewhat amateurish. Still, it had heart. That alone is worth more than a good number of so-called professional works, in my opinion, at least.

I never did end up going to university, even after I wrote the book. Instead, I wrote a second book. That one found a publisher, but not many readers. Then I wrote a third book. It didn't sell either. After that, I met a woman, and we started a family. To make an extra buck, I agreed to write a book for you, Ms. Snarch, about a sickly boy and his magical dog. You and I agreed it would be commercial. Something to sell for movie rights. Unfortunately, I just couldn't write the thing. So I give you this book instead.

Surely, there's a market for it. The kind of book in which somebody spills their guts, and hopes others see the themselves in the mess. That was the reading I loved as a kid. This book even has a happy ending. As long as it has a happy ending, does the middle really matter?

I've provided far too much detail about myself, I concede. I hope I'm not scaring you off. The reason I do it is to make my point, as best I can, that you should publish the enclosed novel. It tells the truth. As best an 18-year-old saw it. Besides, it's not such a painful read. I had fun rereading those pages, and I am a particularly harsh self-critic. For these reasons, Ms. Snarch, I ask you, beg you, to give this book a chance. Why not publish it?

Of course, If you're not interested, I understand.

Your friend,

Lawrence