It’s never too late, in life or in fiction, to revise.
Nancy Thayer, author


Why not? I’ve wanted to write fiction my entire life. There have always been snippets of make-believe in my head, yet I never did much about them. There was one exception: I wrote two short stories way back in 1980 and naively packed them off to magazines. They weren’t very impressed—my packages came back by the end of that week. Thus rebuked, I moved along with life. Writing wasn’t for me, it seemed, not then. I do it today just for fun, and I do not harbor illusions of financial success or celebrity. Creative writing and self-publishing are great entertainment and so much fun, and that’s enough for me.

The appellation of author, when I refer to myself, is troubling. There are so many very talented folks who skillfully weave words in a fashion that readers clamor to consume, and they’ve been doing so all their lives. My discomfort is exacerbated by writing successes within my family. I realize a talent may not be inherited, but I am convinced the desire to express using the written word is. I recognize I have written a book; therefore, I’m an author. I’m a writer because I write—it doesn’t matter my purpose. However, no one will ever confuse me with a wordsmith or highly talented creative mind, nor will it be great literature that I write. My simple hope is to tell a few stories that some folks enjoy.

It is a good place, this personal creative corner of the cosmos.