I live off the asphalt of my birth now where not even skyscrapers can shadow ones' dream. If one possesses big enough shears, that is. Where once I trimmed branches, I now trim doubt. At sixty, I cradled a shiny new iPad home. Can you change my life? I asked it. The iPad answered Yes. It did not lie. 

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Since that day, my writing has appeared in magazines, albeit as a ghost writer. Though most recently I snagged a gig with the Italian Lifestyle Magazine, All Roads Lead to Italy, byline et al. My illustrations and portraits have been commissioned by jkiuijgkjim restaurants, residences and the Plaza Hotel. Occasionally I am photographed. The asphalt brims with surprising idiosyncratic oddities and an onslaught of inspiration. I am besotted. Now if I could simply snag that book deal, I'd be golden. I was just shy of my sixth decade when I went at this new endeavor with intent. The decades before spent in advertising, photography, and in the children's department of a big bookstore with a green awning. I write about the past quite often, though I do not wish to live there. I intend the future to hold words, drawings and sitting until the onset of prohibitive arthritis.