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.