The UPS driver dropped off my shipment of Sayonara Cowboy this afternoon. I greeted him enthusiastically and yelped, “My books came!” He gave me a so-what shrug—a red-letter day for me, just another seven cartons for him. I got my handcart and stacked them in the garage.

In September 2023, I had received an email from Redhawk expressing interest in publishing my memoir. It was the first morning of our “bucket-list” vacation in Paris. My wife, Donna, was happy to the point of tears, which was very much out of character for her. I was happy to the point of anxiety, which, alas, was normal.

Between then and now, just about nine months, my bound book was delivered. A few weeks ago, Patty, my wise acquisitions editor told me, “You’re about to birth your book!” Now that the book’s out in the world, I feel a post-partum kind of blue. The thing is, it wasn’t a mere nine months that I was carrying it around, but rather ten years, since 2013. Now what?