Why This Blog? Why Now?

After decades of writing for the drawer, I decided it was time to share some of my stories with people other than a few loyal friends. I gathered a small collection, polished it as best I could, and sent it out to agents and publishers.

To my surprise, one respected agent—just one, out of dozens—wanted to see more. In this business, that counts as success. Most of the replies were the standard “not for my list,” which is publishing shorthand for “good luck elsewhere.”

I sent more stories, along with a novel I had just finished. Again, a small miracle: the agent found a reputable press willing to take a serious look. They weren’t interested in the stories, of course—short story collections don’t sell, they said—but the novel caught their eye. We were on the verge of signing a contract when the publisher admitted their schedules for 2025 and 2026 were already packed. The earliest they could bring out my book would be the fall of 2027.

That was a year ago.

I’ll turn seventy this fall. I’m fit and healthy, but at this stage of life two years can feel like a decade, and waiting four can feel like eternity. So I did the polite thing—“regretfully declined” is how the email put it.

Which brings me here. Back among fellow writers who’ve weathered the same polite rejections, the same long waits, the same sense that time slips by faster than it should. Together, we decided to start a cooperative publishing venture. I joined gladly.

And if all goes as planned, my debut novel, Lucky Me, will be out this fall—right on my birthday. A gift to myself, and perhaps to anyone who has ever wondered if it might finally be the right time to begin.