The Birth, Death & Reincarnation of my First Book

As with many things in life, I didn’t set out to write a book called Pickleball & The Art of Living. I had no intention to write anything at all (except my name on some bar tabs.) My wife and I set out on a dream cruise to Australia and the South Pacific in early 2020. My goals were snorkeling, sunshine and meeting great people while visiting exotic lands. There had been rumblings about a virus that was causing trouble far from home but everything seemed fine. A week in Sydney on the front end of the trip was idyllic — the harbor, Blue Mountains, Manly Beach and the vibrant city life had us reminiscing about our last trip here 22 years ago. 

Sydney Harbor

Exotic Australian Wildlife

We soon set sail for island destinations. Little did we know we were about to experience our own Gilligan’s Island “three hour tour”. After a great visit to New Caledonia, Covid news started to darken our sunny skies. We were diverted from our next secluded destination in Fiji and instead ended up in an industrial port in the capital. It was the last time we would set foot on land for more than 20 days. The captain bought time floating around the ocean, uncertain as to where we were headed next. Eventually, the decision was made to cut the trip short and head directly for our original final destination in Tahiti. Everyone was disappointed to sail past the exotic islands from our planned itinerary but most of us took it in stride and made alternate plans to find our way home.

BOOLA! Hi From Fiji…

After two days of sailing at full speed, we were just off Tahiti when the announcement came that we would not be allowed to disembark even though nobody on our ship was sick. This would be a sign of things to come as we crisscrossed the Pacific for another two weeks, trying to find a port that would take us. We would repeatedly sail days in one direction only to get denied at the last minute. the ship and passengers were being sanitized to Emergency Room standards and various activities were  cancelled. Many people onboard were beginning to fray at the edges. Tempers heated up and some of the pampered inmates began to misbehave spectacularly. To make a long story short, only a blown engine persuaded Hawaii to let us disembark and only then after some very strict protocols were put in place due to local protests.   

During the time at sea, I started to write. (It was either that or start Happy Hour at 9am.) There was no goal or outline — just a brain dump —  disjointed thoughts about topics that had always interested me: politics, psychology, religion, finances, and yes … how to live life well. When I returned home to Southern California and quarantine world, there was nothing to do but keep writing. I was surprised at how much time and discipline went into crafting a book. Much respect to you other authors out there. When I was finished, I proudly told my wife I was done, only to end up revising and tinkering for weeks on end until I had piled up a stack of rewrites.

Finally, I felt confident enough to run my manuscript by a couple of friends in the book business. They were very complimentary and encouraging about my writing but they subtly intimated that what I had written was just another variation of what had been written many times before. I needed a platform or niche to set me apart. How could I write something that would be different, interesting and noticeable? I was back on dry land but felt more lost at sea than ever.

PART 2: REINCARNATION: From the Manuscript Graveyard to Pickleball Paradise

My book was DOA, Code Blue… taking that final dirt nap. I was preparing a lovely eulogy no one would hear. But a funny thing happened on the way to the graveyard.

Independent of each other, my literary friends both suggested that I might want to focus on the half page throwaway essay about pickleball in my manuscript. Pickleball? What did that have to do with almost the entirety of what I had written?

Then the light went on in my head: I was basically invisible on social media. I was thoroughly un-famous. And I was treading on creative ground that had been eroded over years of well-meaning but well-worn self help literature. Pickleball could be my platform. Picklers are an enthusiastic, evangelical lot. We love to play and introduce new people to the game. And it was pickleball that piqued the interest of my literary friends, even though they had never touched a paddle. What was it about this game with the funny name that kept popping up on their radar?

Best of all, I was passionate about pickleball. I loved the physical and mental challenge it presented and I was enjoying the people I was meeting. I decided to take my moribund manuscript and raise it from the dead.

Weeks later, I had thrown away 80-90% of what I had slaved over for months and was holding a quirky manuscript in my hands that somehow sought to mesh pickleball with important life lessons. But I liked it. It was different enough to stand out and the less serious subject matter allowed me to blend meaningful thoughts with my naturally sarcastic sense of humor. I had surveyed other books in the pickleball genre and noticed that almost all of them were entirely instructional in nature. I took a different angle. I understood that players naturally wanted to improve but I felt that what really set pickleball apart from other sports I had played was the social aspect. It was the perfect blend of exercise, competition and connection. I intuited that accessibility and a sense of community was the secret sauce that was responsible for the huge growth of the game.

Furthermore, the conversations I was having with my fellow picklers indicated an appreciation for living life well. Many of us are more life-experienced (OLD) and seem to value the friendly vibe and camaraderie as much as anything. Pickleball is our gateway to competition in a more appropriate context.

So what started out as an unwanted pandemic detour ended up as a book about pickleball and the art of living. Regardless, I hope I have been able to put together an entertaining, helpful, thought-provoking tome that you will enjoy and get something out of, whether you play pickleball or not. I have no idea where it goes from here. Apparently the vast majority of authors lose money on their books or end up making an effective hourly rate somewhat south of five cents an hour. I’m pretty sure I belong to that group at this point — and I may well end up there.

But I wrote a book. I sat down and wrote a damn book. I think that’s cool. It would be great if people like it but it’s the completion of something I never thought I would do that makes me happy no matter what. And on a deeper level, this book is my offering to help bring people together in a divided world. You never know what words may touch someone or change a life for the better.                                       

Somewhere In The South Pacific

I continue to learn new things every day and realize how far I have to go. Marketing a book was a complete mystery to me. It still is. I know so little and the odds are stacked against getting noticed in a teeming mass of books on every subject under the sun being turned out by experienced authors, ghostwriters and algorithm-fed cabals of book producers. I’ll just keep making way, trying to sail this ship into safe harbor with no navigation experience during a pandemic. 

Wherever I end up, I appreciate having you along on my journey.