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High above Fifth Avenue, Wahoo the Raven daydreamed on his string bag hammock. His iridescent black feathers sparkled in the sun. What now? Should he return to typing his memoir on his BlackZip™ typewriter, which he had designed, assembled, and trademarked under his BlackRaven™ brand? He could only write RavenSpeak in hieroglyphics, which no human could read, so he was forced to type his memoir in English. Maybe he should just idle away an hour until it was time to go visit J

After putting out my first book last week, I had an endless list of things to do to market it. I was overwhelmed and exhausted and could not make myself do one more thing. I was even questioning why I was even trying to be an author. Then last Sunday morning, I sang in my church choir along with choirs of three other Episcopal churches in a joint service to honor the one-hundredth anniversary of the Diocese of Western North Carolina. Preaching the sermon was Bishop Curry, who

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Chapter 1 A New Beginning Nana’s memorial service (arranged by Sophia MacGregor, Life Celebration Planner Extraordinaire) was over. Sophia noticed that even sorrow didn’t stop her editorializing in “parentheticals,” her silent qualifiers of spoken words. She sat in apartment 4B with her best friend, Pedro Gonzalez. Everything was so familiar until she thought of Nana’s absence. In a rare moment of panic, Sophia came close to sobbing. “What if the school finds out I live here

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I was deciding what to write about today and then it occurred to me. What else could I write about but my anxiety about getting everything in place for my book launch? The least that a writer does to publish a book is to write it. That's the easiest part. I could have written ten more in the time that it has taken to learn everything necessary to get it before the public. I have reams of notes and web articles on all facets of self-publishing, and I still don't know exactly w