𝗠𝗬 𝗗𝗘𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗡𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗟, 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗞𝗘𝗧 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗦, 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗕𝗘 𝗣𝗨𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡 𝗝𝗔𝗡𝗨𝗔𝗥𝗬 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲.

It is never too late to follow your dreams. I have been writing since I was five, always dreaming of being an author. In less than three months, I will be turning SIXTY.

The SHORT Story...

𝗠𝗬 𝗗𝗘𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗡𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗟, 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗞𝗘𝗧 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗦, 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗕𝗘 𝗣𝗨𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡 𝗝𝗔𝗡𝗨𝗔𝗥𝗬 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲.

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The LONG Story...

Life has always gotten in the way. But in the beginning, there was always a book in my hand; pencil and paper never far behind. From designing greeting cards to producing plays in the backyard. Catching the attention of my second-grade teacher, who encouraged me to write books that would be available in the school library. A coveted weekly byline in the Panther Press. Winning the nationwide ‘Soft and Dri Nervous is Why’ jingle contest when I was fourteen. Sitting on the ground at Buckingham Palace, my nose buried in Judith Krantz’s latest, Princess Daisy. A Bachelor of Arts in Journalism. An amazing advertising career. The McDonald’s account. Mad Men. My dream job. I was going places. And then...𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘.

My dad got sick. A beautiful baby girl whom I couldn’t stand to be away from. No work from home back then. My dad didn’t live to see his dreams or mine. He barely got fifty-one years. The week after Shiva, I quit. “Life is short. I’ll be back one day,” I said as I cleaned out my office. Accepted a job at my synagogue. Found new ways to be creative.

Then, a perfect baby boy. Followed by single motherhood. No time to read. No time to write. I promised myself I would write when the kids were asleep. Matt Lauer would interview me on the Today show. Yeah, that ship has sailed. Sunk. I had a section in my closet reserved for when I won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay—lots of dreams. But the truth was, I couldn’t even make ends meet.

𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘... A stint in marketing for a friend’s start-up. A chance to write, drop my kids off at the bus in the morning, and pick them up in the afternoon. But it wasn’t enough.

𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘...The Wall Street Journal stated the fastest-growing segment of the apparel market was lingerie. Cue the Victoria’s Secret models. I can do that. “No, you can’t! You don’t know anything about retail!” The peanut gallery had no faith in me.
I signed a lease on a shop without a name or a plan. Four months later, Joie de Vivre opened. Best of Philly winner. The exclusive brand behind the Philadelphia Eagles Cheerleaders calendar. Designed my own ads. Billboards. My kids worked in the store. A new love. And then, again...𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘.

My mom got sick. It was brutal. She was only a few years older than I am now. I sat in my award-winning store after she died, dreaming of getting my MFA and writing full-time. I moved. I put the store up for sale. Do you see a pattern? But, all too soon, again, and this time, rather quickly...𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘.

My love was in a tragic accident. I never went back to the store I had built. The MFA was on hold. As was my life. And his. He survived and flourished. One year later, I finally enrolled in classes. I wrote a memoir. “No one is buying memoirs right now. Maybe try fiction.” I published several articles in KVELLER. Started a Blog. Read. Write. Repeat.

As a self-professed Stock Market Junkie, I did research. COVID. Lived in pajamas. I wrote my novel. Agents were interested. And then...You can’t make this shit up...𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘...𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘.

Unfrickingbelievable. This time it was me. TN. Lightning bolts through my face up to thirty times a day. The pain was so intense that I had days when I could not speak, eat, or see. Forget editing and selling my book. Drugs. Anxiety. Lots of Drugs. Finally...brain surgery. It was a miracle. But I lost my words. They were floating in front of me, just out of reach. If only I could grab them. Bring them back to life....Life. Time. Patience. Persistence. Both kids got married. I got better. I rewrote and edited my book. And Edited. And Edited. Lots of interest. Maybe Reese Witherspoon will buy it. Can we tag her? Does anyone know her people? Maybe it will be a Netflix series. Lots of hope. Lots of rejection.

And now, I realize it is up to me. To the naysayers who have said, “You can’t.” “You won’t.” Melani Sanders nailed it. I DO NOT CARE. Can I tag her? To the bullies. The ones who told the school bus driver to leave without me. The ones who tripped me on the way to the blackboard. Locked me in the boys’ locker room. And to all the mean girls. Who forced me to second-guess myself time and time again. Dayenu. Enough. Someone tag Mel Robbins too. LET THEM. LET ME. There’s no room in my dreams for negativity. Dreams are meant to be chased, whether you are five or sixty. I had no idea it would take this long.

I hope you will cheer me on when the book is launched. I hope you will read my book. Buy my book. Sell my book. Promote my book. Tell everyone about my book. Share this. Post this. Copy this. Tag people. Do all of the things on social media that I don’t know how to do yet. I hope you sign up for my newsletter for exclusive information. I promise it will not show up in your inbox often, but when it does, it will be short and sweet and fun.

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