Why Me? A Throwback to My Very First Book

As I prepare to release my debut novel this August, I’ve been thinking a lot about “firsts.” I’ve been calling this upcoming book my first, but the truth is, it’s not. Not really.

My first book was written when I was twelve years old, thanks to a wonderful initiative at my grade school. Every student was given a blank hardcover book and told: “Write your story.” That simple prompt felt like a golden ticket. I was happy. My young imagination was bursting with urgency and drama.

I titled my first book Why Me?. It was a tale of injustice and redemption: a man wrongly accused of a crime, imprisoned, and then driven to break out when he learns his mother is dying. On the run, he’s pursued by the very police officer who framed him. But in a twist of poetic justice, the officer inadvertently confesses—and the wrongfully convicted man is freed, while the corrupt officer is finally held accountable.

At twelve, I was convinced I had penned the most gripping, original plot in the literary world. Looking back, it reads more like a script from a vintage action drama—complete with chase scenes, moral outrage, and last minute justice. In short, gloriously cliché. And I wouldn’t change a word.

But here’s the fun fact, that year, my brother also wrote a book. I have no memory of his plot, no characters come to mind—but I do remember the title. He called it This Book Has No Name. Now that, my friends, is marketing genius. While my story was twisting through prison walls and courtroom reckonings, his title stood on a shelf and dared you not to open it.

It was my first personal lesson in the power of a great title—how a few well-chosen words can intrigue, tease, and invite a reader in before they’ve even cracked the spine. That lesson stayed with me. Titles matter.

So while Why Me? may never see the light of day again, it’s still a part of my writer’s journey. It reminds me of the raw excitement of storytelling, of the freedom to imagine, and of the thrill of putting pen to paper and claiming it as your own.

This August, I’ll be sharing a very different book with the world, written with more experience, yes, but with the same heart that twelve year old me poured into that blank, white book.

Stay tuned. And remember: your first story might not be your best, but it’s always your beginning.