Where to Point Your Pen

Dads and (Book) Deals

First attempts are rarely victorious, but they’re a pretty good place to start. I was 12 or maybe 13 at my father’s East Village apartment when I wrote down a short story that had been swimming around in my imagination. My first. I laid it out on one of my Dad’s ubiquitous yellow legal pads, page after page. 

I’ve retained zero memory of the actual plot …