Selling what I write had been my goal through several different day jobs, in two different countries.
I still remember the thrill of my first sale, a profile of French caterer Gaston Lenotre. This piece led to a number of assignments for France Today. The editor commissioned a cover article on all the English-language bookstores in Paris, then promptly left the magazine.
Upon return to the USA, I shared my bookstore query with a writers’ group.
"Don’t give up," said the leader. “Try an inflight. Send it email.”
The very next day I received a response, expressing interest in 350 words on one specific bookstore. The editor must have liked my style because she snapped up the piece. I earned $350. My first $1 a word had become reality.
Now I write more important stuff. Recent articles include op-eds warning of toxic chemicals in the environment. I write books and blog about beautiful Wellfleet. Since I started innkeeping, I no longer need to make a living from what I write.
But I still write, because write I must. It’s who I am. I’m a writer.