The Paperback Version

I’ve been bad about keeping current with my postings, but I’m blogging with some great news! I just learned that Shana’s book will be published in paperback! If you’ve been looking for the book on the shelves and haven’t found it, that’s because most of the major book stores have sold out all of their original purchases and only have it available by special order or online. So getting the paperback out there will be great. 

Of course you can still order it on Amazon.com, which continues to have a five star rating and great new reviews. It is available on Kindle and in audio book style. You'll notice that the paperback cover has the words, "National Best Seller." Makes me smile.


Here is the cover. According to Amazon.com, the paperback will be available Feb. 2011, but it could come out sooner than that. If I learn anything new, I will post it here.

Chat Roulette is Freaky!

I think I am totally FREAKED out by Shuffle People! Have you tried this thing called Chat Roulette? I heard about it on the news and there are some funny Youtube posts about it, so I had to give it a try and see what the fuss was about.


In the first five minutes, as I shuffled through several people staring at me from dark rooms, I must have seen at least seven penises! Floppy ones, hard ones, big ones and little ones, all close up and central to the camera. The interesting thing is you don’t just get video. Audio is exchanged as well, so if one wanted to, you could shuffle along, shouting out scores. “TEN! Two. Ohhh definitely a one.” Of course, I didn’t do that. I politely shuffled to the next person, always wondering if it would be someone wearing clothes.

Most often, the people I saw in the brief minutes I could stand the experience, looked like shy teenage boys, the type who would have a hard time talking to anyone face to face.

I’ve spent some time in chat rooms before and I have no doubt. I much prefer chatting with only the written word than seeing so many faces … and penises.

Writing Critique Groups - Listening vs Reading

I’ve been reading some ‘how to run a writer’s group’ blogs and I’ve been really surprised. Many of the how to’s say reading work out loud on the night of the session, “brings the work to life.”


What?

MAYBE, if you’re writing poetry, or drama, a screenplay or a heavy-on-the-literary-type literary novel. But for your everyday literature or genre novel, I strongly disagree.

IMO, reading is a completely different experience and requires different comprehension skills from listening. Some say reading uses one part of the brain (the smarter part) while listening uses the outer ear (a dumber part) and never really sinks into the meat of the brain. Blah, blah, blah.

I’ve worked with a number of writing and critique groups and I’ve always found that groups that send work ahead of time, and then spend their meeting time providing constructive, supportive critiques, work the best for me. Not to mention, that when I can get other eyes on my pages to fix the misspellings I’ve missed, like the -- their and they’re -- mistakes, or to have a voice of reason who can highlight the holes in my plot points, are abundantly helpful.

But that’s just my opinion. What do you think?

What the papers are saying about "I'm Still Standing"

Forgotten female POW's story told

Fort Meade media director helps African-American soldier write autobiography
By RYAN JUSTIN FOX, Staff Writer
Published 02/16/10

In helping former U.S. Army Spc. Shoshana Johnson write her autobiography, Fort George G. Meade Media Relations Chief Mary L. Doyle not only exposed the world to the plight of the country's first African-American female prisoner of war, but furthered Doyle's own budding literary career.

It tells the story of Johnson, a single mother from Texas who was a part of a supply detail when her company was ambushed in Iraq just days after the U.S. invasion began.


Eleven members of Johnson's company were killed. Six others, including Johnson and then 19-year-old soldier Jessica Lynch, were assaulted and taken prisoner by Iraqi forces on March 23, 2003. Johnson was shot in both legs during the attack. The American prisoners were freed by Marines several weeks later.

Though Johnson was awarded a Bronze Star and Purple Heart, her capture was largely ignored and overshadowed in the media and among military leadership by Lynch's captivity.

The incident touched off a firestorm of controversy about racism in the military and the media. Reports surfaced that Lynch received a more lucrative book deal and larger disability payments than Johnson.

"I was shocked at how open (Johnson) was," Doyle said. "She really bared her soul about the ambush and her captivity."

Doyle, 50, spent several days at Johnson's El Paso, Texas, home while preparing to write the book. Doyle was not the first choice to write Johnson's autobiography.

Johnson originally signed a deal with another publishing company and author before parting ways with them and signing with publishing giant Simon & Schuster.

Doyle, an Army reservist for 17 years who spent time in Bosnia, had just returned to work for Fort Meade's Public Affairs Office after working in Korea for the Armed Forces Network. She was also putting the finishing touches on her own novel.

Writing has long been a passion for Doyle. She said she always wrote short stories and screenplays. She has a personal blog dedicated to writing.

The Minneapolis native signed with a book agent to shop her novel around. Doyle's agent wasn't having much luck with her murder mystery but was able to land the deal with Simon & Schuster to pen Johnson's story last year.

Doyle said the book details the unimaginable emotional stress Johnson suffered from the ambush and capture.

"People don't realize how a military unit is like a family," Doyle said.

She also describes the relationship between Johnson and Lynch. There have been reports that Johnson has animosity toward Lynch, but Doyle said that isn't true. The two travel to memorial services and other events together, she said.

But Johnson said in the book that several commanders and fellow soldiers at Fort Bliss, where she was assigned, began resenting the star treatment she and other POWs received when they returned home. The ordeal forced Johnson to resign from the Army. She was eventually granted an honorable discharge.

"I'm Still Standing" has already been featured on the "Today Show" and other major media outlets.

Doyle said she hopes to eventually be able to write books and novels full-time.

"I love working for Fort Meade, but I love writing," she said.

Shana is doing her thing and promoting the book.  She's doing a fantastic job and making me proud. Its hard to believe the book is FINALLY out and people are actually buying it.  Eventually, the dream happen!  Watch the entire interview here:

Shoshana Johnson on the Today Show

Mr. Raymond's Poetry

I went to the post office today. The mailman left me a pink notice just after Christmas but I hadn’t found the time to pick up the package it described. The second notice said if I didn’t pick up the package today, the day after New Year’s, they would return it to sender.

I knew what it was. My stepsister, Tracy sent me a pound of wild rice from Minnesota. Nothing reminded me of home as much as chicken wild rice soup, and Tracy, knowing that I wasn’t going home for Christmas, sent me a pound of wild rice. I knew it would be the real stuff, the kind you can only find in my midwestern home state. I could already taste the soup I was going to make and I didn’t want the package sent back to Tracy. Not after she had gone to so much trouble for me.

So off to the post office I went. It was only a couple of miles from my house, but wind advisories issued that day were accurate and my little car was rocked by the strong gusts as I drove the short distance. Driving down the road, there were few people on the sidewalks. One usually sees a lot of pedestrians in Baltimore, but the wind and the cold kept most of them indoors it seemed.

Just before I reached the post office parking lot, I saw an old man, bent against the wind, making his way painfully down the street. He was tall and very thin. He used a cane and dragged one leg.

Step, cane, drag. Step, cane, drag he went. It was agonizing to watch him. I drove by and went into the post office.

My timing was good. Not too many people were in line. I stood and waited my turn. When I was next in line, I glanced out the door and there was the old man, continuing on his painful journey. Step, cane, drag. He stopped once, to catch his breath, then continued again, making slow but determined progress.

I wondered where he was going. It was cold out, and the wind was nothing to trifle with. It has to be something important I thought, to bring him out in such conditions. He was dark, that kind of blue black skin that reminded me of my dad and his Mississippi roots. The man’s jacket looked warm but hung loosely on him. His shoulders had been broader, his legs wider and stronger once. He looked closer to seventy than sixty, but it was hard to tell. Untrimmed whiskers over his lips were white and wisps of white hair stuck out from the knit cap pulled down around his ears.

The customer at the counter was sending a package overseas and the clerk was having a hard time processing the postage. It was taking a long time and the line was growing longer. Several postal customers passed the old man, as he made his way down the sidewalk. Step, cane, drag.

I thought he would keep going, but he made his way down the handicap ramp and entered the post office. He turned to the area where the post office boxes were and I wondered if that was really his intended location, or did he just come inside to get out of the cold and the wind.

Then I thought, if he is going to check his mail box, I hope something is in there. What if he came all this way, in the cold and wind, only to find an empty box? I hoped he found a card from a grandchild, or a package from an old friend, better yet a check from some government agency. Something that would make his trip worthwhile.

I still waited my turn, not in any real hurry and decided, if the old man was still in the post office when I was done, I’d ask him where he was heading and offer him a ride. In Baltimore, you don’t offer strangers rides, especially if you’re a woman, but I didn’t want to watch him walking anymore.

A few minutes later, the old man was at the door and leaving the post office, and off he went going in the opposite direction he had been headed, returning home probably, after getting his mail. Step, cane, drag.

Now there was no question. When I left, I would offer him a ride.

Finally, it was my turn. I picked up my package, bought some stamps and hurried out the door after him, wondering how he would react. I caught up to him easily. He was headed into the wind now, and the going was harder. He was concentrating on the sidewalk just in front of him, his shoulders hunched up around his ears.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said.

He stopped and turned to me, a look of surprise on his face. His dark face was lined in experience. His eyes yellowed with age.

“I saw you on your way here. Can I offer you a ride?”

“Really?” he said. His shoulders drooping slightly in a sign I took for relief.

“Yes. I bet you’re not going far.”

“No, just over by the Bayview Liquor store, you know.” He said. That made me pause for a second. Was he headed there to buy a bottle of something? It didn’t matter. I would take him.

“Yes, my car is just over here.”

He smiled, all of his crooked yellow teeth revealed. “That would be great,” he said.

I walked, at my normal pace back to my car. I wanted to push the passenger seat of my two-door car back as far as it would go. He was taller than I had thought, and I knew it would be hard to fold himself into the seat. By the time I got the seat adjusted, he had made it to the car.

“A pretty lady offered me a ride,” he said, smiling as he handed me his cane, sat down on the seat and struggled to get his legs in the car.

“A pretty lady offered me a ride,” he repeated, finally getting himself settled. “It reminds me of a poem I wrote.”

A poem? I thought. It was the last thing in the world I expected him to say.

“You’re a poet?” I asked.

“No, no,” he said. “I just dabble, you know.”

“Well, I’d love to hear it,” I said.

So he told me his poem, six or seven lines of rhythmic, surprising words. I pulled out of the parking lot, smiling now too. I glanced at the man, his weathered, ashy dry face, his eyes so yellow and aged. And he had just told me that I reminded him of a poem, one that was beautiful and pretty damn good.

“That’s lovely,” I said. “You wrote that?”

“Yeah, I just dabble, you know,” he said. “I wrote it after I read one of Shakespeare’s plays again.” And he quoted a few lines of Shakespeare, saying the words as if he truly understood the meaning, felt the purpose of the phrasing. I wondered who the hell this man was.

“You’ll have to tell me where to go,” I said.

“Just up here, couple blocks,” he said. “Let me tell you another one.” And he gave me six or seven more lines, lovely words with meanings I would understand better if I could see them in print and could contemplate them more fully.

“I’m a writer,” I said. “But I’ve never written poetry.”

“Oh, I’m not a poet.” He said. “I just dabble, you know.”

By this time, I could see the Bayview Liquore store. It had only been three blocks. Three blocks that probably would have taken him twenty minutes to walk and I wished it had taken us twenty minutes to drive it. I wanted to hear more from him. What had he done for a living? What other things had he written? What did he get in his mail box?

I turned the corner by the liquor store, wanting to get off the busy street so he could take his time getting out of the car.

“My name is, Mary,” I said.

He turned his yellow gaze to me. “Raymond,” he said, offering me his large and calloused hand. A working man, I thought, or maybe it was just from gripping his cane.

“I thank you for the ride, Miss Mary,” he said, unfolding himself from the car.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Raymond. Happy New Year.” I said.

He smiled and waved and didn’t go in the liquor store. Instead he went to the neat little row house next door, gripping the stair railing as he made his way to the door.

I drove away, so glad the line at the post office had been slow. Glad that I had offered Mr. Raymond a ride. It was a good thing to do. I’m not a big do-gooder or anything. But I dabble, you know.

Happy Holidays

I have a new book contract. I never EVER would have predicted that, a year after the first one, I would get another contract to write another memoir. It’s exciting. Its pressure filled! It’s the start of another interesting year.

So I decided to spend the holidays alone. I needed the time to write -- I’m under contract to produce some chapters after all -- so I decided not to fly to Minnesota to be with family. I put up my tree and have a Jenny-O, turkey breast in the oven, au-gratin potatoes, and will make a nice vegetable stir fry. I’ve been at the keyboard most of the day, and have produced some readable words, but it’s strange. Home alone. Christmas happening in homes all around me. Weird.

Was this the right thing to do? I have so much trouble writing in the evenings. Weekends just don’t seem long enough. I felt like the holidays would be my only opportunity to really get into this story.

Now there is icy rain falling outside and its chilly here. I feel a little lonely but then again, if I had gone home, I’d be worried about getting the work done anyway.

Tomorrow will be a better day. It will be the day AFTER Christmas and I’ll be able to write without feeling strange about it.

Right now, dinner is almost ready, the cat is curled up behind me on the chair, the rain is slapping against the windows and I’m feeling okay. Happy Holidays!

The Groove

There are those times when sitting at the keyboard feels like something other than work. It is very close to magic. You feel your characters. You know your story. You find the words. You’re in the groove.


It’s been a long time since I’ve found the groove. I’ve searched for it. I pretended I’d found it but I wasn’t fooling myself.

Last weekend I found it again. Not sure where I found it, but it was there. It took me a long time to realize where I was but when I did, I knew I couldn’t let it get away again. So I took an extra day off for this long holiday weekend and I’m hoping I can keep it for an entire five days. If I can keep it, this will be a very good weekend indeed.

I know why I lost it before. I wasn’t writing every day and I let it get away. In fact there were weeks when I didn’t write and you can’t find the groove if you stay away from it for so long.

Now that I have it again, I hope I can be smarter and keep it and write. Every day.

Another beautiful Saturday and I’m stuck at my computer, writing. I shouldn’t complain, I know. I am doing this because I want to but it does make me feel a little guilty that I’m sitting here in the semi-darkness typing away. There’s a whole world of possibilities out there …


The answer to this dilemma is that I need to earn enough of a living with WRITING so I can quit my day job. What a luxury to write without restricting that creative time to evenings and weekends. Maybe. Someday.

My First Review

I read my first review today. It was published in the online version of Publisher’s Weekly. When I learned the book had been reviewed by PW, I got very nervous. PW can be mean. Down right nasty actually, and I had no idea what to expect. They didn’t gush over the book. I didn’t expect that. But they did say a couple of nice things and even mentioned my name. I can’t complain. In fact, I’m quite giddy about it. I know the next one could be completely opposite but for now, I’m deciding to be happy about this.

Here is the review:

I'm Still Standing: From Captive Soldier to Free Citizen—My Journey Home Shoshana Johnson with M.L. Doyle. Touchstone, $23.99 (288p) ISBN 978-1-4165-6748-6

Johnson gained national attention as America's first black female prisoner of war. She was in the 507th Maintenance Company convoy ambushed on March 23, 2003, in Nasiriyah, and captured with five other soldiers including Jessica Lynch. One might call Johnson's presence in a firefight a compound accident. She was a cook who had enlisted in 1998 hoping to earn money for her education and perhaps “meet a nice guy,” and was a cook with the 507th, which existed to maintain Patriot missiles. But she was sent with the convoy, and the bullets Johnson took in both ankles did not ask for her military occupational specialty. Though objectively treated well enough by her Iraqi captors, she was wounded, female, and black: three reasons for being afraid. Rescued three weeks later in a daring raid, Johnson emerged with a Bronze Star, a case of post-traumatic stress disorder, and an unwanted celebrity status sufficiently resented by the system that she left the army. Johnson endured her captivity with courage and emerged with honor. With the help of former army reservist Doyle, she vividly, simply, and unpretentiously tells her tale . (Feb.)

Chatting with a friend

I just spent the last hour and a half chatting with a friend who is deployed to Afghanistan. We tried to do a video call but I could hear her but not see her. She could see me and not hear me. Frustrating!

But the cool thing was that we were having a conversation from opposite sides of the world. I miss her and I’ve been so curious about what her life is like. I now feel like I have a better idea of what she is dealing with there in the desert. I worry about her because danger is just around the corner and it bothers me that she will be there until the end of the summer next year. A lot can happen in all that time.

At least now I know I can get in touch with her when I want. I look forward to chatting with her again. One thing I did learn was that they are having a hard time getting videos and books to keep them occupied. I'll definately be sending her a box of good things to read and watch. My tiny bit for the cause.

What Success Looks Like!

I’m pretty sure this is what writing success looks like. You haven't heard of her yet, but you may very soon. This is Tracy Kiely, a talented Maryland native who has finally seen the culmination of her hard work appear in hardcover and on the front aisles of your neighborhood book store. Tracy's first novel, Murder at Longbourn is now in stores. I simply had to attend her first book signing at the Barnes and Noble at Annapolis Harbor Mall and I have to say, I was a bit surprised at the number of people there. Folks in Annapolis know how to support one of their own!


Tracy and I participated in a writing group a couple of years ago. I was working on my first novel. Tracy was looking for input on her second book. At the time, she was looking for an agent, looking for a publisher and it was easy to see that sooner or later, someone would figure out that her work was worthy of publication. Once she finally found an agent, it only took about three weeks before St. Martin’s Press, one of the biggies in publishing, wrote her a two-book contract. WAY TO GO TRACY!

Her writing is witty, sharp and entirely entertaining. If you like an Agatha Christie type murder mystery, you’ll enjoy this book. And for those Jane Austin fans out there, you’ll love the books too. You’ll find all kinds of ties to Pride and Prejudice in Murder at Longbourn. It’s tons of fun.
And when you buy your copy, take a look at the acknowledgements! It’s the first time EVER yours truly has been mentioned in one of those. Makes me blush!

Publishing. AT LAST!

To blog or not to blog? I seem to continually choose not to blog. I’ve had a lot to keep me busy and away from the blogging key board. I bought a house and the search, closing, moving were huge time suckers. Now that I’m in my new home, I have to say that as difficult as the entire process was at times, it was all worth it. I sit now in my new office in a beautiful row house in Baltimore. A place I plan to spend countless hours in working and creating. More on all of that later.

The biggest task that kept me away from blogging was finishing my first published book. For more than a year, I have been working on writing the memoir for Shoshana Johnson which chronicles the story of the ambush of her convoy in the early days of the war in Iraq, her capture and her 22 days in captivity. The book also covers her return home, her treatment in the press, her difficulties with the military medical system, and the challenges of trying to live a normal life after such an extraordinary experience. It’s a powerful story. It’s hard to believe I was given the opportunity to help tell it.

When I received the pages from the line editor I thought someone was joking. The pages were covered in red. Every single page, every single one, had red all over it. Sometimes there were as many as 10 corrections on a single page. It was proof that, any English training I may have had in the past, simply didn’t take. It was humiliating. I kept picturing that poor editor as she corrected the same mistakes over and over again, cussing me out and shaking her head and thinking, “We paid her to write this crap?”

I made the corrections and returned the pages and just weeks later; I was looking at the pages as they would be type set in the book. It was beautiful. I loved the titles for each chapter. Loved the way everything seemed to read differently now that they weren’t simply words on a page I created. These pages had been printed, by someone in a publishing house, had been read by editors and line editors and the guy in the printing room who was responsible for printing the thing so that it could be wrapped in a hardcover and bound. Heady stuff.

I had been thrill to see the printed pages. What I really wanted to see was what they had planned for the cover. I imagined many different possibilities. None of my imaginings came close to how great the cover really is. I love it. Simply love it!

Shana likes it too and that’s the most important thing. She loves the book. Her family, well, I know there are things in there that are hard for them to read, but I they appreciate that finally, her story will be told in its entirety.

Now, I wait for February when it will finally come out. Its hard to believe that I‘m done with it. In the mean time, I’m back to work on the second novel in the Master Sergeant Harper series. I found a new writing group and I know they will be helpful. More, much more on them later.

This is just NUTS!

Okay, I'm dedicated to my craft and all, but this guy? This is just nuts. And has anyone ever heard of him? This video was shot in 1993 while he wrote his first novel, "Bombidiers." Ooookkkaaay. So, has anyone ever read it? I had to do a little research and found it was a black comedy about bond traders in San Francisco. Maybe he locked himself in a closet to protect himself from earthquakes.

Writing Group

I’ve decided to form a writing group close to home to gain opinions and advice about my work. I find it motivating to have input from others and to see and hear how others work. Now that I’ve decided to do that, I’ve looked into different ways of going about the endeavor.

A local writers association will post the new group on their website and I think I will find members pretty quickly. The trick will be to find people that have the same level of interest that I have. I figured, anyone who was willing to meet weekly must be pretty serious about their craft, so to start out with at least, I’ll ask for weekly meetings. I’ll also limit the writing to fiction, preferably novels of any genre, but short fiction will be acceptable. I figure that will mean only folks who have been writing for a while or at least trying to write for a while will respond. Also, it will mean I’ll have a goal each week or every other week.

I’m told that folks drop out pretty quickly. I figure, if we start out with ten or twelve, we’ll whittle it down to 8 or 6 which would mean we could really spend time and attention to those that are really working on their craft.

We could agree on a set of rules for critiquing, agree on times to meet and what to do if you don’t have work that needs input. We could also have sessions that talk about publishing, how to get an agent. Maybe have talks with agents or writers online or via speaker phone.

Then the question is where to meet. The clubhouse of my apartment building will allow us to meet there. It has a kitchen and large living room area and has recently been renovated. I would have to put down a $250.00 cleaning deposit that would only be used if we didn’t keep the place clean, so I don’t think that would be a problem.

I’m excited about this and look forward to the new endeavor for the new year!

I post this photo of an over dressed holiday room because I don't have a single Christmas decoration up in my apartment. Too much going on! The good news is, my offer on a townhouse was accepted. Sometime early in the new year, I'll be moving into my new home. The other good news is ... wait for it ... the book is DONE! I am sending it to the publisher today!! I can't wait to see what happens in 2009!

What I'm Thankful for - a New Home

Today I establish a new home, a temporary apartment I will keep until I can close on the townhouse I found after searching and searching and searching. The temporary apartment is a cute little place filled with rental furniture. The one luxury I insisted on was a fireplace. If I'm going to be here for the next six months or so, I wanted a little bit of warmth to keep me happy.

The main thing is, my moving turmoil will slow down some and I can get back to the 2nd rewrite of the manuscript I have been hired to write. Almost a year ago, I was hired to ghostwrite the true life story of a black female soldier taken prisoner during the start of the Iraq war. For the last several months I've been listening to her story and trying to tell it the best way I could. I LOVE this book! I think it’s powerful and raw and I'm so proud of her and the story she has to tell. It’s still hard to believe that I’ve been given the opportunity to help tell her story.

I’ve been working all along, through the turmoil of this move but getting settled will help. Once I’m settled in the apartment, I will be able to concentrate on the rewrite so we can get this book to the publisher before the end of the year. If we can do that and we can get all their edits done right away, we can maybe publish by the fall of 2009. I so want that to happen. I think a lot of people will be surprised by her story and all that she survived and is still surviving.

This year, I’m thankful for this writing project, for my new apartment, for being back in the USA, for my new friend Sojue, the cutest little Siamese cat you could imagine, for being closer to my family, for the health of my family and for a new President.

I Moved

I moved. Which never sounds easy, but my move was from Seoul, Korea to Annapolis, Maryland. Stress does not even begin to describe my world over the last few weeks.

Now, I’m working on establishing my new life in a new place. I go house hunting tomorrow.

The sooner I find a place and settle down, the sooner I can get started working on the edits for the book. My editor has suggested some very reasonable and doable changes and I can hardly wait to dig in and start working on them.

Actually, the fact that she read the manuscript, had suggestions for changes, is scheduling time to “work” on the pages, was a validation I never expected EVER in my lifetime to have. This is that huge NY city muckity, muck editor I talked about before. I feel like, even if she wants changes, I’ve finally been officially dubbed, a writer. I’ll be working with an editor! I’ll be working hand in hand with her to improve the manuscript. The good thing is, at this point, I have little, to no ego to be hurt by her suggestions or desires. I think this is going to be great.

But first, I have to find a place to live. At least my timing is right. It is a buyers market…

The coolest video

I love this video. I've been so wrapped up in the debates and the election coverage and the financial bailout and just the news in general. I’m not sure why. Maybe because it sort of feels like I’m watching a train wreck.

If the bail out bill didn’t pass … train wreck. The whole Palin/Biden debate … possible train wreck. If we elect the wrong guy … the one just like the one we have now … train wreck! I watch and read everything I can get my hands on because it’s exciting and interesting and dangerous and more than likely, will look away right before the crash if it were to happen. There’s no question though, that these are important times for the future of our country.
That’s why I think this video is so cool. Its all about the vote.

Do I know stress?

I’ve never been so nervous and stressed out in my life! In March, I was given an opportunity of a lifetime -- to write someone’s memoir FOR MONEY. Yes, cold, hard cash. The story had already been sold to a publisher, so all I had to do was write the damn thing. I jumped at the chance, especially since I was very interested in the story, the woman who went through the experience and heck, who doesn’t want to get published? Not only was it a great story to tell, it was a great publisher! I mean, who doesn’t want to have a hard cover book published by a huge New York City publisher with YOUR NAME on it??

Plus, a nice fat paycheck. The largest amount of money I’ve EVER been paid for ANYTHING, EVER. I’m talking $$$ Ben-JA-mins.
So for six months, I toiled away on this project. Mostly, it was pretty easy. It was a subject I knew a lot about, I enjoyed telling the story, it seemed to flow from my fingers.

Now I’m done.

I just sent the manuscript to the editor. Now I wait to see what she says. This high-powered, I heart NY, high-falutin editor for a big muckity-muck publisher is reading my book. She could hate it. She could LAUGH at me. She could be using the pages to line her cat’s litter box!

Or she could make all my dreams come true. You think I’m sleeping!?

In light of my present state of mind, I give you this...