When I reached the age of forty, it became the first time in my life where I found myself doing some soul-searching. I took stock of what I had accomplished to that point and what was I going to do with myself moving forward?
There were things, I discovered, that I had felt I needed to do. So, I created a Bucket List. Near the top of my list I scribbled down that I had wanted to write a novel, a keepsake, for our children.
A year later, I was proud to be able to scratch, “write a book” off of my list. My wife, who had yanked the fresh manuscript out of my hands, spent her entire weekend reading my creation. To my surprise, she liked it. For two weeks she prodded me to try and get the book published. I resisted at first and then finally I gave in to her persistence and mailed out a barrage of query letters to literary agents.
Another year had passed and I inked a contract with an agent to represent my first novel, Hoodoo Sea. Thirty days into my contract, I had to contact my agent and request they put their efforts on hold due to devastating news regarding my mother. I advised my agent I would call them when I was available and ready to proceed with the book again. I never made that call.
When the phone call from my agent came out of the blue months after my contract had expired, I was caught off guard. My agent had received a letter from a publisher wishing to put my novel to print. I know how lucky I am as the agency had only sent out my manuscript to fifteen publishers when I had asked them to stop.