I want to be Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman is a wizard. Not in the sense of making things fly, pulling rabbits out of a hat, or shooting lightning bolts in the snap of a finger — although he might make you believe he could do it all. No, Neil Gaiman is a magician of words. He brings simple letters to life. Cities start walking, gods enter your room, and magic is as normal (and frightening) as an armed robbery in Rio. On one page you are there in the park, on another you discovered a portal to the fairy world. Simple words? Not so, after all, don’t you know that the world was created by the Word?

Neil Gaiman knows and has told us.

I’d like to use words to shape reality just like Neil Gaiman, but, to be honest, I never came close. The most I could do was imitate him a little, like a child. Comparing my creation and Neil Gaiman’s is a bit like comparing the creation of the universe with Dr. Frankenstein’s monster — it’s not even close. Seeking to equal the master, I did everything: I read his books, the people who influenced him, wrote about what he wrote, and even dressed the same way — let me tell you, black letter jackets are no fun in the Brazilian summer.

Alas, nothing helped.

Dismayed by my resounding failure, I realized that I had none of his creativity, no talent with words, or even a mere English accent. But that doesn’t mean I was lacking in creativity. In a last desperate attempt to become Neil Gaiman, I created a plan — several in fact. For the most promising of them, I needed a steamer boat, God’s email, and an angel's feather. But I couldn't acquire any of that. Steamer boats are expensive and rare (especially in Brazil), God hates spam and angels are really fussy about their feathers.

So another idea dawned on me: I should steal his notebook, put my name under whatever was written there, and make a name for myself with the name New Gaymann.

Though simple, it wasn’t so easy to get close to Neil Gaiman’s notebook. You know, anyone who keeps their professional secrets in a notebook wouldn't be careless with it. First I tried to get him to give it to me willingly. My emotional Twitter DM didn't do much. I didn't have a weapon to force him to give it to me, nor I was versed in the Jiu-Jitsu fighter body language.

All that was left for me was guile.

I got the job of porter at the hotel where he would stay for a conference that would take place. He was the keynote speaker. Easy, I thought. He leaves the room for a lecture, I go in, find the notebook, pick it up, and head towards fame. Easy.

The first time I saw him leaving his room was a disappointment: he was carrying his notebook. I followed him to the empty courtyard. He basked in the sun and wrote a few things in the notebook.

— That’s right, the more you give me, the better. — I smiled.

He eventually went back to his room. A while later, he left. New clothes, wet hair. This time he was with no notebook. I think he went to dinner. I immediately grabbed the Hotel's master key and entered the room. I quickly saw that the notebook was beside the bed. That would be like taking candy from a child.

I approached the bed, took the notebook in my hand, opened it, and began to read what was there with teary eyes. I had done it!

— I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

I turned quickly, startled, towards the almost synthetic voice that came from behind me. He was a tall, thin, white guy (he was more than pale, he was paper white). His hair was black and tousled, reminding me a little of that guy from The Cure.

— LL-Lord Morpheus? — I asked.
— In the flesh. Or the closest I can be in the waking world.
— Will you kill me?
— My sister is not here. — He didn’t seem to have any emotion.
— Yeah, but if you don’t get away, maybe she’ll be summoned. And, believe me, it won’t be for me, much less for Dream. — Said another voice, coming from inside the bathroom. I recognized him immediately with his round glasses and an owl over his shoulder. Behind him, another figure, a blonde man in a yellow trenchcoat that smelled of cigarette.

“Oh, fuck me”, I thought. And I got the hell out of there.

But not before I got everyone’s autograph.