A Man Called Nicholas

Christmas was rapidly approaching as winter deepened in 1999. My family was attending a small church in Vermont which was hosting a special family oriented service on the Sunday evening before Christmas. It occurred to me that one of the central figures of the holiday was built around a man about whom most people knew very little. I decided to write a story that would bring to life the man behind the legend. I wrote for several days, threw most of it away, nearly abandoned the project, and finally when my back was against the wall in regard to time (I always did work best under pressure.) I sat down and typed furiously. (For me that means hunt and peck really really fast.) I literally finished writing the first complete draft of this story while my family was getting ready to attend the service. I was the last one ready and was uncertain about how this hybrid of history and fiction would be received at the church.

The carols were wonderful, the people were warm and friendly, everything was perfect. That made me even more anxious. I wondered, “Will this be a bonus or a bomb?” I hoped that my story would help people see and maybe experience Christmas in a fresh way. When I started reading, the room became silent. Both adults and little children hardly seemed to move as the lives of Per and Anna and Konrad and Erik and Svava unfolded before them. Central to the story was one special person whose name was Nicholas. The irony is that while this story is about him, Nicholas’ life was about someone else. If there is a lesson here, I guess that would be it.

I put the story away, and the following Christmas, my daughters asked for me to read it again. Over the years it has become one of our favorite family traditions. And part of the tradition has become letting other people in on the secret. Every year the girls would say, “Dad! When are you going to publish this story?” So I sent the story to an agent and asked for his help. He sent it back with a short note and these painful words. “There’s no such thing as good writing, only good rewriting” I have now rewritten this short story so many times that I have lost count of the revisions.

One of my daughters got her realtor’s license and I immediately started calling her every day and asking her if she had sold a house. Three or four days into that pesky ritual she came back with the clever reply, “Have you published a book?” We all laughed and still nothing happened. (Like I said, I work best under pressure.) About two years ago the story was once again read when our family was together at Christmas. And my realtor daughter made an announcement. Actually it was more of a threat. She said, “Dad, if you don’t publish this story, I’m going to change the end of it after you die and publish it myself.” The pressure was on!

Still, I didn’t pick it up again until the fall. When foliage exploded with color last October I began another rewrite. In November I started searching the web for artwork of the kind that I imagined for my characters. I went through more websites and artists than I could count. When I came to Allan Youl’s site at www.alleycatsgarden.com, I thought,”This guy could have the stuff that I’m looking for.” I searched through his site and found his striking pencil rendering of Sir Edmond Hillary cast in sepia tones. I thought, “That guy just stepped out of my story!” In that instant, I knew that Allan Youl had stepped into it.

I sent him an email and waited. The next day, he replied that he might be interested in this kind of project. I told him I was looking for illustrations that possessed a “rough-hewn realism in a rustic setting”. He responded, ” that fits well with my strengths…” Allan’s article details our process from that point forward. But I want to add what an amazing experience it has been working with an immensely talented man who is able to bring such creative genius to his sketch pad. More than that, he has so captured the images that I had in mind for this story that I can hardly imagine it without them. His work is more than a compliment to my own. I have come to see it as the completion. He has taken this story where I could have never gone.

Allan and I have never met in person, but after literally hundreds of emails detailing ideas and challenges, discussing sports and marketing and occasionally even personal hardships, I am proud to call him my friend.

I hope you enjoy reading our story, A Man Called Nicholas, as much as we have enjoyed creating it.

Gratefully,

Roger D. Foster