Everything has a beginning, a middle, and an end.
My writing career got kick-started when Reader’s Digest decided to send me a check for $100 in 1966. Evidently, an anecdote I sent to “Humor In Uniform” struck the funny bone of an editor somewhere, and my “professional” writing career was off and running.
Of course, over the years, it never got up enough speed to win any major races. I never sold another piece to the Digest or any other major publication, for that matter. I did cash checks from a couple of periodicals with national circulations, but the other 200 or so magazine articles I wrote found a home in state and regional publications.
What does this have to do with putting a book together?
Not a whole lot. I don’t claim to be great writer or even a decent writer. However, I can live with adequate. All I know is that there are over two million published words out there that I have to claim, most of them appearing in newspapers. What effect they had on people, I’ll never know. I don’t think anyone was ever harmed, although I have taken a swing or two at people who I thought deserved it. All were public figures of some sort.