My new novel Shall Never See So Much was released in March, 2010. The title comes from a line in King Lear, and I now find myself even further indebted to Mr. Shakespeare. But c'mon, he's Wm. Shakespeare and a ton of people are indebted to him. We should all be so lucky, us writing types.
I began writing over 25 years ago, and published Bent, But Not Broken through a small Southeast publisher. It was a military novel, written on a manual typewriter, at night after returning home from my day job. The sales were better than average. I was twice on television and did a few interviews and book signings. And while the reviews were good, I could see that the royalties would not displace my earnings as an established business manager. So I faced a watershed moment, where the irresistible pull of writing is resisted by the inexorable push of monthly mortgage payments. What to do? Do my kids go uneducated? Unwashed and unclothed? Unfed, for crying out loud?
I signaled for a timeout. And after due consideration and consultation, I decided to continue building a business career.
But the writing still called.
And called.
And never stopped calling.
Borrowing a phrase from MacArthur, "I have returned," albeit a bit later than originally planned. I decided to retire from the corporate world and return to writing, to a gig I am having the time of my life pursuing. It's not exactly the way I envisioned it would unfold, but my career change is welcomed with open arms.
Begging to differ with F. Scott Fitzgerald that "There are no second acts in American lives."
I began writing over 25 years ago, and published Bent, But Not Broken through a small Southeast publisher. It was a military novel, written on a manual typewriter, at night after returning home from my day job. The sales were better than average. I was twice on television and did a few interviews and book signings. And while the reviews were good, I could see that the royalties would not displace my earnings as an established business manager. So I faced a watershed moment, where the irresistible pull of writing is resisted by the inexorable push of monthly mortgage payments. What to do? Do my kids go uneducated? Unwashed and unclothed? Unfed, for crying out loud?
I signaled for a timeout. And after due consideration and consultation, I decided to continue building a business career.
But the writing still called.
And called.
And never stopped calling.
Borrowing a phrase from MacArthur, "I have returned," albeit a bit later than originally planned. I decided to retire from the corporate world and return to writing, to a gig I am having the time of my life pursuing. It's not exactly the way I envisioned it would unfold, but my career change is welcomed with open arms.
Begging to differ with F. Scott Fitzgerald that "There are no second acts in American lives."
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