![]() ![]() ![]() Influenced by an entrepreneurial father-who owned two small grocery stores, claimed to have walked uphill both ways to school, and believed that his military service was a cakewalk when compared to working on his parents’ farm-I chose a path to study business at Bowling Green State University. And as I look back, I think I could have gotten a better deal if I’d had an agent. I have my mother to thank for this wonderful memory. But when my relatives arrived for dinner, I managed to sell my literary masterpiece, damp with correction fluid, to my Uncle John for twenty-five cents. Over the next hour, I typed-using two fingers-a poorly constructed tale. ![]() To keep me occupied, Mom retrieved an old typewriter, paper, and a bottle of White-Out, and she asked me to write a story. She and my father were preparing dinner while a medley of Tom Jones, Neil Diamond, and Engelbert Humperdinck albums spun on a stereo, and I was getting in the way by playing in the kitchen. When I was eight-years-old, Mom created an enduring experience for me on a cold Thanksgiving afternoon. She bought me loads of books, and she would often sit patiently with me as I read aloud, fumbling through sentences. My mother, an artistic woman and voracious reader, instilled in me a passion for music, reading, and writing. My publishing journey was incubated by childhood experiences. ![]()
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