I have been writing stories for as long as I can remember. The first were handwritten and illustrated and are safely hidden. In the early 2000’s I began deliberately crafting short sorties, a few of which appeared in since defunct online journals or college publications. Only one or two might still be worth reading. I started one novel, but did not complete it. Soon, medical training intervened, and it became exceedingly difficult to maintain other pursuits.
Twenty years later my wife and I were discussing midlife crises. “What would you regret not doing if you got to the end of your life and hadn’t done it?” she asked. “Publishing a novel,” was my immediate answer. “Then do it!”
Some months later I woke from an intense dream and began describing it over coffee. It involved a beautiful new world and shapeshifting dragons. “Stop,” she told me. “That’s a novel. Grab a pencil and start writing it down.”
One year later The Dragons of Eden was published.
Irony Sade 