Getting the Call

I got the news on the par three 15th hole at Cedar Crest Golf Club: My agent called about my book and said we have an offer—three of them. It’d been nearly 20 years since I’d sold my first short story to Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine and at that time I told my wife, “I should write a book.” These last 20 years have been filled with working on air conditioners, going back to school, teaching classes, attending conferences, and helping to raise two beautiful children. Tough years, yes, but writing a book’s been tougher. I thought about this news during my backswing—my heart racing, my hands all sweaty—but that didn’t stop me from slapping a nice, crisp six iron into the trees. Five shots later I finished that hole, and eventually finished the last three holes at a triple-bogey pace. But at least now I could make some phone calls—friends, family, former teachers, four wrong numbers and some man in France who spoke pretty good English (he promised to look me up on Amazon.com)—to tell them the good news.

For the next two weeks Bill, my agent, and I talked over our options. In the end I signed a contract with WaterBrook, a division of Random House. Just recently I told the wife, “Maybe I should write another one...”