real-life stories the emotional toll was heavy.“ With every passing month the added weight of an unsatisfied womb rested heavily on both of us,” James recalls. When surgery finally brought relief and pregnancy followed, it felt miraculous. It also changed everything.
At that point, James was a published novelist with momentum. Reviews were good. There was even talk of a television adaptation.
“ I had a tiny taste of fame just before our first child was born,” says James.“ And then, just like Shakespeare and his missing years, a large finger reached into my world and pressed pause on my writing life. I made the difficult choice to put off my writing life and be a present dad.”
It wasn’ t a choice made lightly. Writing had long been central to James’ s identity. In his bachelor years, creativity thrived in quiet nights and long hours.“ The keyboard tiles rattled on until the early morning hours,” he remembers.
But marriage, and later children( baby numbers two and three followed quickly) demanded a different rhythm, he says.“ I could no longer close the door to shut out the world while I played with words. It was a profound adjustment phase.”
During those years, James lost both his mother and brother, survived devastating fires that destroyed the coastal town where he and his wife owned a coffee shop, completed an MA in Creative Writing, lived through Covid lockdowns as the primary caregiver, and walked away from a serious car accident where his airbag failed to deploy.“ There was no space for new books,” he says plainly.
And yet, there’ s no bitterness in how he tells it. Asked whether he ever resented stepping away from his career, his answer is immediate:“ No, I would make that decision again tomorrow.” Growing up
www. babysandbeyond. co. za in a broken home shaped that resolve.“ I didn’ t want that for us. I made the decision to be a present dad to my kids, even at the expense of my writing career.”
For James, success had to be redefined. In a culture obsessed with output, he shifted his focus.“ Ultimately, my view of success was being a present dad,” he says. Presence, he explains, isn’ t perfection.“ No parent can give 100 % of themselves to their kids. You are a good parent if you can give 25 %.” Sometimes it came down to small, practical checks:“ When your child asks a question, do you put your phone down, make eye contact, and answer their question?”
Ironically, stepping away from writing didn’ t silence his creative voice. If anything, it deepened it, he says. When the children were older and more independent( and, as he jokes, when“ I may have been driving my wife crazy”) it was time to return.
Finishing his third novel, Gray, was both satisfying and sobering.“ Seeing the book on the shelf after a 10-year hiatus from writing was satisfying, but I lost a lot of time and need to get the ball rolling again.” Still, he’ s clear that those years weren’ t lost.“ Investing time in your children is never lost time,” he says.“ Your child is the legacy you leave behind.”
James is aware that his story runs counter to many ideas about masculinity and success.“ At a time when fatherless homes are on the increase, this decision itself merits retelling as a form of encouragement,” he says. He’ s not convinced society can manufacture support structures to make men choose caregiving.“ Being a present father is also a choice, not a luxury,” he says.“ Men supporting other men, or fathers leading by example, is the only way to make a real difference.”
If he could speak to the version of himself who stepped away from writing all those years ago, his advice would be simple:“ The next five years will be challenging but totally worth it in the end. Every second you spend with your children today will yield rewards later in life.”
It’ s not the most conventional literary career arc. But for James, the missing years weren’ t empty. They were full … of responsibility, fulfilment, and three small humans who changed the story long before he put pen back to paper. �
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