For more than fifty years, I’ve dreamed of writing a novel.
Today, I held it in my hands.
Even as I write those words, they feel a little unreal. My book. With a cover I can touch, pages I can turn, and my name on the front. Tipping Point, by T. J. Caldwell.
That’s me. I wrote this book.
You can probably see some of what I’m feeling in this photo. There’s joy, of course. But underneath that smile is a sense of wonder I’m still trying to put into words. How can something I imagined for so long suddenly have weight? How can I hold a dream?
For decades, writing a novel belonged to “someday.”
Someday, I would write one. Someday, I would finish it. Someday, there might be a book with my name on it.
I don’t think I understood how it would feel when someday became today.
I knew the story was finished. I’d seen the words on a screen and the design of the cover. But holding this printed copy makes it real in a way I wasn’t quite prepared for. I keep looking at it, taking in the fact that the novel I dreamed of writing is here.
Tipping Point: A Novel of Responsibility, Grace, and Second Chances.
There’s something especially meaningful about holding a book with those words on its cover after carrying the wish to write for so much of my life. This moment has reminded me how much a long-held dream can still matter—and how much joy there can be in finally giving it room to happen.
If you have a “someday” of your own, I hope you’ll let yourself imagine reaching it. Even if you’ve carried it quietly for years. Even if it’s taking longer than you thought.
Today, I’m letting myself enjoy this. The smile, the disbelief, the book in my hands.
More than fifty years of dreaming, and here it is.
My first novel. ❤️
Congratulations Terri!