“Self-publish” used to be a dirty verb, something one did in the privacy of one’s mediocre writing.

Let me just say that I love my cover, and embraced it as soon as I saw it.

Will my publisher survive me?

It starts with the skeleton.

If I don’t have eyebrows, will people still buy my book?

The short answer is The New York Times.

Is there a hyphen in there?

Where unpublished novels go to die.

Okay, not elderly, exactly … let’s just say vintage.

A lot of emotional freight goes into an author photo.

When better to start a new novel? While medicated into oblivion, of course.

Learn to trust your gut.

Use AI to imagine a cover for your novel.

Are you a writer or an imposter? Who says so?

Waiting … what’s a writer to do?

Is fiction writing an extension of the self, a revelation of the self, or merely an escape from the self?

Buyer beware! Here’s a shaggy Google tale for anyone contemplating Google Help.

Rejections from publishers arrived fast and furious. Too dark, they said. American readers want books with lighter themes during these difficult times.

Everyone knows how it feels to be ghosted. If someone drops you in perpetuity, then, you’re lower than the slugs crawling on the earth. You’re a nobody. You don’t exist.

What does it mean to be a loser?