After they look at me perplexed, trying to decide if I’ve simply gone mad, there will inevitably come during the succeeding conversation a suggestion that I should write a book about my Great North American Baseball Road Trip (GNABRT).
Really. It has happened every single time.
I smile, chuckle and nod politely. My response is the same each time, as well: Would anyone read it?
The suggestion is understandable. I’m a writer. I’m going to travel all across North America by car. I’m going to watch a baseball game in every Major League Baseball stadium. It’s only natural that people would suggest that I type up the adventure.
It probably wouldn’t even be that hard. Sure, the GNABRT is going to require some crazy schedules and crammed sleeping, but jotting notes and taking pictures wouldn’t be that difficult. Then, it would just be a matter of cobbling everything together in a reasonably entertaining way.
But, there we are again. Once that was done, would people really want to read about the GNABRT? I can write it with some wit and keep the literary affectations to a minimum, but it’s still a tale of my personal adventure driving across the country. Unless something traumatic happens to me, how riveting is that?
This may be one of those “do it for yourself” projects. I may write up the GNABRT just for the fun of it, sort of a testament that I actually accomplished something extraordinary in my life (and survived!). Not that writing and publishing three books already doesn’t cover that.
I’m still months away from the trip and probably weeks away from even having the schedule all nailed down. Still, I may consider writing a book of my adventures on the GNABRT.
Even if I may be the only one who reads it.