So, yes, back to books. Thank you for allowing me my tirade. I can’t tell you how good it felt to speak my mind, and then not be apologetic about what I said. Why? Because everything that has occurred since has proven my opinions as a positive hypothesis. Enough. Back to books…

Having put up the last of my finished written titles, I still have a couple up my sleeve. A new mystery baked into our modern scientific and religious dilemmas, and my kayak journals. Since my contract ended in New York, more than a few years ago now, I continue to search out a new publisher for my big works. Which brings me to the pothole in the road: the business of writing.

I have spoken about this many times before, but the road doesn’t smooth out for writers. Between publishing houses condensing, and genres leaning to unknown voices crying in the wilderness – which, again, I fully appreciate and applaud – the marketing and money side of selling books has gone way beyond the artistic template of the many. Meaning, if you’re not a celebrity, don’t have street cred in the journalism world, or aren’t one of the marginalized groups, it’s really goddamn difficult to be “traditionally” published. And to add to the general woes of wanna-be NYT Bestsellers, there is now a vast array of social media that must be reckoned with. Everything from Influencers to YouTube stars through pod casters, the lowly creative writer has been left in the lurch. I haven’t even gotten to AI yet, nor will I. We even had some AI entries into our local writing contest last year that became an omen of what’s ahead. If not recognized, what is creative writing anymore?

This weekend in my studio on the river, I have worked diligently in an attempt to insert myself into the world of Goodreads, BookBub, and the Amazon writer’s culture. Being the Luddite that I am, needless to say, it’s a chore. But I persevere. I found, thanks to my publicist, Goodreads had me under account and has all of my titles among their twenty-million. I updated my Amazon “stuff.” I haven’t gotten around to BookBub in a while, because years ago I got some feedback that I didn’t “have enough Friends on Facebook.” True story. I suspect my relinquishing my social media won’t help. I’m happier and unencumbered, yes, but not the norm.

In 2021 upon return from my book tour – as curtailed as it became in the last of the COVID years – I did pontificate quite proudly that I was a rare writer who could write what I wished and what I need to since it’s never been about the money. That being said, I recall often my favorite bookstore owner looking at me very seriously one time early in my writing life, “Sorry Tom. For us it’s all about the money.” Point taken.

The nice thing for me is there is no rush. I write as I want, when I want, and if I can break out of my regional success into the world of New York, good. If not, okay. Obviously I’d be lying if I said I’m totally okay with the status quo. At some point to find yourself in the New Yorker, the New York Review of Books, or The Atlantic would be absolutely wonderful. I guess in saying that out-loud, if my writing continues to strengthen and someone in the business glomes onto a few titles once again, it will all work out.

Until then, please grab a few of my new books and have some fun. They’re easy reads – on purpose – familiar settings, characters, and true anecdotes, and they’re cheap.

Cheers!