Writing The Art Gallery
The experience leading up to the first words, "It was just past two in the morning," was undoubtedly chaotic.
For me, writing a novel was never a question of if it would happen but always about when.
My life since turning eighteen has been a whirlwind of unknown, never-ending change, and a sea of personal evolution. When Jasper utters those first words and unveils the bottle of vodka beneath his bed—you're introduced to a time in my life when I was most broken and lacked nearly all hope.
That bottle of vodka eventually grew into something bigger. When all seemed lost and unbearable, Clayton and his scent arrived.
I'll always remember the first hoodie I stole from my (then boyfriend) husband. It was gray, smelled dearly of him, and had some graphics on the front. I'd wear it to sleep and out to coffee—there's even a photograph of me somewhere in my parents' possession (either printed in a box or somewhere in their phone) wearing it. Being comforted by the cotton wrapped around my body offered a peace that I didn't know could exist.
He quickly became my eternity, and I began questioning how I ever existed without him.
The story of Jasper and Clayton is an exaggeration of my life beyond painted sky sunsets, walks along the sand in Santa Monica, travels to Oregon, and even moonlit nights at the arcade. Beyond that, if it were a mere journal entry of our first six months together, you likely would've been bored by the endlessness of five-dollar dinners and leftovers.
After giving up a financially stable life in Austin, Texas, to pursue new endeavors in London (which resulted in a move back to Los Angeles), I was unemployed and knew there would be no better time to type the story of us.
My story would look much different without my husband—perhaps one less uninspiring and hopeful on paper. It'll always be the question of "what if," though that is a question I could care less to know the answer to because I love what is.
I hope you enjoy my debut title, The Art Gallery.
— Marcello Kline
