A Novel Is Like A Sausage. You

Man Plans. God Laughs.

An Hour Before His World Exploded Like A Ripe Tomato Under A Stiletto Heel, Myron Bit Into A Fresh Pastry That Tasted Suspiciously Like Urinal Cake.

Writing My First Book, I Think In Hindsight I Went Into It Saying, 'it's Gonna Sell.' I Was Earning Enough To Scrape By Sometime Around A Book Or Two Before 'tell No One.' I Moved Up From $50,000 To $75,000, Then $150,000 For Each Book. I Had Never Thought I Would Be Doing Anything Else. I Had Enough Encouragement.

When You Like Something And You're Pretty Good At It And You Can Make A Living Doing It, You Don't Ask Why. You Just Count Your Blessings And Go With It.

But Sometimes, Maybe Most Times, It Isn't That Clear. It Is Dark And You Are Near The Edge Of A Cliff, But You're Moving Slowly, Not Sure Which Direction You're Heading In. Your Steps Are Tentative But They Are Still Blind In The Night. You Don't Realize How Close You Are To The Edge, How The Soft Earth Could Give Away, How You Could Just Slip A Bit And Suddenly Plunge Into The Dark.