How Corporate America Ignited My Inner-Author

I am often asked what motivated me to start writing, and I’m embarrassed to admit that a lot of it had to do with garden-variety boredom. After earning an MBA and landing what I thought was a dream job at a global technology giant, I soon discovered that my 60-hour workweek was considerably less exciting than I had imagined it would be. It was only a matter of time before I was functioning on autopilot, doing the same tedious work day-in and day-out. On one particularly mind-numbing day I was sitting in my office during lunch, staring up at the random patterns formed in the ceiling tiles above my desk (something I did from time to time as a diversion from the mundane) when it occurred to me that I desperately needed to find some sort of stimulating mental-outlet to get me through the monotony of each day. It was then that I committed myself to writing a book, something I’d dreamt of doing for as long as I could remember.

I started immediately, working feverishly through the remainder of that lunch hour and beyond. Before leaving the office that evening I had the entire story outlined, the title was written in a stylish boldface font at the top of page one, and even the Prologue was beginning to take shape. The next day, for the first time in a long time, I actually looked forward to going to work because I knew that my book was waiting there for me at lunchtime. Even at that early stage in the writing process the story and characters had taken on a life of their own in my mind, and I wanted to get them from my brain to the paper as soon as possible. In fact, I couldn’t wait until lunch! I started typing almost as soon as I sat down at my computer, temporarily ignoring the litany other things I should have been doing.

By the third day I was so consumed with writing that I could hardly think of anything else. In order to keep from getting fired from my job I forced myself to take the book-writing home with me, where I would stay up typing until two or three in the morning, and then laid awake in bed a little while longer just to prolong the thrill of pouring my heart and soul into something so completely.

After weeks of losing sleep, I cautiously typed the words 'The End' at the bottom of the final page. To be sure that I’d captured the emotion and message of The Paper Bag Christmas as I envisioned it on that first day beneath the ceiling tiles, I printed the manuscript, curled up on the couch, and began to read. Four hours later, as I grabbed another tissue to wipe my tears, I knew that I’d done what I set out to do. The book wasn’t perfect (and still isn’t), but I’d discovered an important piece of me in the words—and in the process of writing them—and that was enough for this bored businessman.

Copyright © 2008 Kevin Milne