I held the idea in my pocket too long. For at least two decades, I had grand dreams of writing a biography that no one else had attempted.

I intended to write the definitive account of the life of Thomas Meagher — Irish nationalist, escapee from an Australian penal colony, Union Army general in the American Civil War, first territorial governor of Montana, and possible murder victim on a steamboat.

If Meagher’s story was told in a movie, it would seem too fantastical. But if done right, a written biography would be a big talker in bookstores and maybe in some niche social media circles (or are they horizontal scrolls?). With a fast-paced but detailed recounting of Meagher’s accomplishments — overlaying historical strife in Ireland and America — I could set the foundation for a long career in publishing.

Or so I thought as I often dreamed of one day starting my first book. Amazingly, no one had penned a mainstream biography of Meagher’s life; only a few offerings from small publishers appeared on an occasional Google search.

Convinced I could write the ultimate tale of this Irish rebel and American hero, I was similarly convinced I’d join that exclusive club of authors who uncover unfamiliar stories so rich and engaging that no one can actually believe those tales had never been written before.

I’ll have to find another way into that club. Timothy Egan beat me to it. In 2016, Egan, a National Book Award winner, put out a 384-page look at Meagher.

I nearly let loose a battle cry when I spotted Egan’s work sitting on a front display table at the now-shuttered New England Mobile Book Fair in Newton, Mass. It felt as if a musket blast blew apart my worth as a writer. I was shocked that someone had pried free my literary dream and would now be the celebrated expert on Meagher and maybe even the Civil War and Irish-American history.

But after stumbling around the store for some time, I realized it was all my fault. I gripped the Meagher dream like a lucky penny but ignored the reality that luck is the residue of design, as another possible subject of a book once said. I never put in as much as an hour’s worth of research.

My favorite excuse had been that as a newspaper reporter for 16 years and now a busy marketing content writer and parent of two children, the last thing I wanted to do with my free time was embark on a massive book project. When I reconciled my lack of progress with the truth, it was clear: I had been lazy. Too many nights and weekends chasing good books, good movies, and good times with family and friends, and not enough time chasing the dream.

I don’t begrudge Egan. I even read and enjoyed “The Immortal Irishman.” Yet, here I am, nearly nine years after the book’s release, and I still don’t know what the subject of my first book will be. But at least I understand I better stop fantasizing of being a successful author if I don’t actually try to be one. Meagher certainly didn’t make excuses.

No more dreaming, no more talking. Getting beat to what seemed like my pot of gold has stirred the fight in this Irishman. Never again will I let someone else write my novel.