Arrival

Somewhere in videos of my family’s lore (dutifully transferred from 8mm film – Google

it), there are several seconds of my young self slapping the sides of my head before twirling

around like a Tasmanian devil. The reason for this impromptu craziness was the opening of one

of my greatest Christmas gifts of all time, an Atari 2600 video game system. (Back to the Google

machine!)

Few things in my life have inspired such joy. Here are some of those thing:

-Getting word that, after two weeks crisscrossing Colorado looking for work, I’d been

offered a job by the Colorado Springs Sun, starting a 40-year career in journalism.

-Finding out Nickelodeon optioned my middle-grade book, “Dead Jed: Adventures of a

Middle School Zombie,” for a TV movie (it wound up passing, not that it detracts from the

memory).

-The birth of my son. Maybe this should be higher because it was really cool. I’d even

venture to say better than the Atari 2600, and my son isn’t obsolete.

Another of those moments occurred the other day when I was least expecting it. Opening

my mailbox, I was surprised to find a corrugated cardboard envelope from Bookshop.org. I

occasionally order from the anti-Amazon online store, and I'm happy to know that part of the

proceeds go to my local indie bookstore. I could not, however, remember ordering recently. It

was a pleasant surprise, like finding a twenty in my pants.

But it was much more than that when I opened it. Inside was my new novel, not due on

“Upton Arms: A Retirement Home for Supernaturals.” It wasn’t due on shelves for another three

weeks, and I hadn’t even received my author copies from the publisher.

All due respect to my son’s birth, who took us seconds to create, this baby was years in

the making. I inhaled its new-book scent, flipping through the pages slowly. On top of each right

page, the name of the book. On the top of each left page, my name.

I now consider this my legacy. Oh, and my son. Both will carry on the name.

I put a lot more effort behind the book. It took me a year to write, carving away time on

weekends as my day job demanded the majority of my efforts. Editing required another three

months, and working with a professional editor another two months. Then there was the lengthy

querying of agents and publishers, to a point where I was sure it was time to shelve it and work

on something else. When the offer came from City Owl Press, I needed only two seconds to say

yes.

Which is about the same time I needed to create my son. OK, maybe a bit longer, but not

a lot.

Then again, my son has had a much greater impact on my life than anything I’ve ever

written. He also turned out to be a kind and caring man, and I am more proud of him than any

book.

True story.