A few years ago I was watching the History Channel, as is my wont, and there was Hitler in front of 100 thousand strong at Nuremberg, spouting the usual schiesse about the master race and Aryan destiny, when my 3 and 5 year old sons walked into the living room, pointed at the TV and said "Who's that?" I explained that Hitler was a very bad man who started a world war and killed a lot of innocent people but that he's been dead for a long time and the world is better off without him.
Flash forward a week or two and I'm driving around with Charlie, the 3 year old, who's munching cookies in his toddler seat in the back of the car and asks me if I want one. "That's nice, Charlie," I say, "you're a good boy to share your cookies." And he fixes me with the kind of earnest look that only a wonderfully naive 3 year old can muster and says "Hitler doesn't share his cookies."
And that's the title of my first book - Hitler Doesn't Share His Cookies. If I were a musician, I'd put out a CD called Hitler Doesn't Share His Cookies. If I were a movie mogul, I'd finance a feature film called Hitler Doesn't Share His Cookies. But I'm an unemployed radio announcer with a blog, so even a book is probably a longshot, but it's the most realistic goal.
All need now is an outline. And a plot. And all the other elements professional authors weave into the creation of a best-selling novel. But I know Hitler's going to be in the book, and I know that he's going to have cookies, and that he might or might not share them, depending on what kind of curveball I decide to throw at the end. Interestingly (or not), Hitler was a vegetarian with a great fondness for pastries, so I could alternatively name the book Hitler Doesn't Share His Apfelstrudel or Hitler Doesn't Share His Kartoffelpfannkuchen. But I'm less interested in historical accuracy than I am in honoring a 3 year old's generosity of spirit and remarkably simplistic but compelling take on history's greatest despot. Because I'll bet you Hitler DIDN'T share his cookies. Whether relaxing in lederhosen with his Nazi party cronies at the Obersalzberg or meeting with the high command at the Wolfschanze to plot strategy for the Eastern Front, I'll bet der Fuhrer hoarded every sweetbread in the place and told Goering to get his own cookies, not that Goering needed any, the fat f***.
I realize that Hitler is a touchy subject and I don't mean to make light of wars of aggression or crimes against humanity, but remember that I'm trying to pitch a book here, and Hitler Doesn't Share His Cookies is a catchier title than Churchill Doesn't Share His Brandy or Roosevelt Doesn't Share His Wheelchair. Now THAT's offensive.