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As the author of six books, I know how attached writers become to their works.

What we create becomes almost sacred. It is impossible for us to understand why the world doesn’t cover us with praise.

When I taught writing classes to newspaper “stringers,” I told them to put their finished articles in a drawer for as long as their deadlines allowed. I told them they would be surprised to read their pieces days or weeks after they walked away from them. Still, once we put ink to paper, it is very hard to not look at our creations as important.

One publisher I sent a manuscript to told me the text was “too personal,” in the rejection letter. “Well, isn’t that the point of an autobiography!” I screamed inside my head.

Another publisher offered to edit a second book of mine for $5,000. Say what!

Of my six books, all have been self-published. As brilliant as I think each work is, the world has not yet beaten a path to my door. Maybe my works will be better received posthumously.

SnoopyTwo of my books have a great deal of line art inside. Since no one sees them for the gems they are, perhaps the pair can be used as coloring books.

Benny the Biplane is a similar work of love. Having been there and done that, I can almost see inside the mind of author Fritz Carmichael. He has a love of planes, and in particular, two-winged antiques. It seems obvious Carmichael flew these birds when he and they were younger. Perhaps he still flies them.

And so, he gathered together some pictures of old airplanes and added a few words for “every child who has wanted to fly.” The plot is probably autobiographical – memories of planes and days long past – meant to appeal to his grandchildren.

With grandchildren of my own, I hope the youngest will enjoy my copy of Benny.

Best of luck, Fritz!

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