Pipe Dreams

For years, I tried finding a way to tell the story of the historic figure Sir William Phips. 

The poor son of a carpenter with 26 brothers and sisters who 

eventually became the first governor of what’s now Massachusetts in 1692, 

and who, while at sea, discovered one of the world’s greatest buried treasures, 

And who fought in monumental wars, among other feats (some good, others quite revolting).

And for all those years, I failed.

I tried screenplays,

I tried novels,

I tried short stories,

I tried novellas,

I tried picture books,

and poems. 

All different formats. 

Restructured, 

reformatted, 

revised, 

revisited, 

restored.

I wanted to bring attention to his story, 

the fascinating history of a man not many people know about.

I wanted to make room at the table for someone 

as interesting, unconventional, and electric as Phips was. 

Or at least seemed to be.

I battled with the muse, arm wrestled 

and argued with them. This story would be mine!

Until, after bathing in a tub of balled paper and gnawed erasers, 

I finally realized the futility of that pursuit.

The story isn’t mine to tell.

The story, isn’t mine to tell.

The story isn’t mine, to tell. 

I don’t know whose it is. Maybe one day I’ll meet them. 

Maybe one day I’ll punch a ticket to a movie called Phips, 

or scroll down to a TV show called Phips, 

or stumble on a novel called Phips. 

Until then, I’ll continue enjoying his hopeful company, 

as we sip pub pints, pining over pipe dreams – wandering, 

as wishful as our thinking, together.