about me

     A story I wrote in high school was accepted into the school’s anthology for that year (1963) and brought me unaccustomed and intoxicating praise. Catching that wave, I went off to college at 16, excited about becoming a writer. My instructor seemed brilliant and hip in a world-weary way, and I hung on his every word, hungry for a mentor. He did not reciprocate my admiration, noting on my submissions that I was too introverted to communicate and that I had nothing to say anyway. His only comment at our one-on-one meeting was that I had the most shining eyes he had ever seen – apparently, he didn’t consider my writing even worth discussing. I believed that cynical man and changed my major to anthropology, where my eyes were attentive but had lost some of their naive shimmer.

     In later years, I was acknowledged for skill as a technical writer. I chalked that up to having been well-educated – an unearned anomaly which did nothing to offset my perceived lack of creativity.

      And yet, I wrote. I couldn’t help it. Observations, story ideas, opening sentences for novels – they would demand to be written, and I would oblige. I placed no value on these scraps of paper which I kept in a file labeled “Writing.” I only looked at them during my annual file cabinet purges but could never throw any of those notes away, even though I didn’t know why I was keeping them. I wrote in journals, too. They gave me comfort but weren’t literary – so they didn't count in my mind.

     In 2020, I sold my restaurant at a huge loss and knew the only way to make peace with that debacle was to write about it. During the pandemic, I joined a memoir group on Zoom and got the inspiration to begin. Then I couldn’t stop. Once “All You Care to Eat – A Novice Buys a Restaurant” was finished, I went on to another memoir, "Drunk Luck - Fun and Trouble in the 1970s." Neither of these have been published yet - the restaurant book will come out in 2024. My blog describes  the process of bringing an idea to print.

     Then I was invited to a poetry group. I thought I didn’t like poetry, judging it by those poems with dense stanzas packed with obscure references: the worst seemed like word salad and the best like too much work. Since then, I've gained some humility and come to appreciate what it takes to produce a stunning Villanelle. And I have learned poetry is a broad and welcoming medium, with room for my voice too.  I want my writing to be clear and accessible, and to make the reader feel something, whatever the form. Some of my thoughts and stories are better served by an economy of words and some rhythm – by poetry.

     60 years after being told I couldn’t write, I pulled out the Writing file in search of an old letter, but this time I saw it with new eyes. There’s so much stuff in there! Those “useless” scraps of paper add up to a lot of literary energy.  I’ve been writing the whole time! I’ve always been a writer! Why didn’t I know that? 

     Better late than never, I call myself a writer!  And a T-shirt entrepreneur.