I wasn't going to write anything but a friend of mine — a real writer, at least in terms of publication, with five novels to his credit — told me that I should, that I should take advantage of the opportunity to let people know more about me as I continue with my efforts to keep PIF going and making it even better.

This writer said he wanted to support my efforts, which are really also the efforts of Richard Luck and Rachel Sage, and the many writers and readers who frequent the site. He said other writers would want to support efforts to make PIF viable and dynamic, and exciting, and stimulating, and all that other kind of good stuff. This writer is a man of conviction, a wise observer of the human condition, who, though resigned to the more unpleasant realities of life, also is one who carries on because of the positive aspects and strength of the human spirit. If he thinks highly of me, maybe I'm okay — but I must admit that like many, inner voices of doubt sometimes prevail. I guess maybe sometimes it is okay to listen to others, regardless of whether you agree at first, or even later.

Still, my experience with PIF has been thoroughly positive, and the irony is that I'm a fairly newcomer to the computer age, and yet, it has been through electronic sentences clicked out through cyberspace that I have actually met real people, becoming true friends with some, and colleagues with others.

Although I still feel like an MFA student in my mid-twenties, I'm not, which proves that one's development as a writer is an individual affair, and though there may be objective criteria concerning craft, in the final analysis, subjectivity and internal drive probably have more to do with success, whatever that is, than anything else. And, of course, a bit of luck — one should never underestimate luck.

So what am I babbling about? I guess I'm expressing gratitude that I was able to meet so many interesting and encouraging people through my involvement with PIF. Better late than never, I suppose. I can't dwell on regrets of the past because I'm where I am now, and it's not that bad, and prior days have somehow landed me as the managing editor, or head editor, or something or other of PIF.

I remember working as a temp at an aviation plant across the road from a small airport which the jet setters used to slip in and out of the New York metropolitan area. I was a reproduction clerk, where engineers and purchasers, many retired military men, and other young hotshots starting out, would come to me with scrawled out numbers of blueprints they wanted located and copied for them. I worked with another temp, a guy a year or two older than me, who was a standup comic paired up in an act with his wife, while I was an aspiring writer. The only reason I mention any of this is one, because the would be comic was much more confident than me, and two, he gave me the memorable advice in terms of trying to make it, whatever that was, when he said, "It's not a matter of being in the right place at the right time, but rather, of being someplace all the time."

In other words, you never know; never know what will happen, or who you might meet, or any of a number of things. For instance, I sent a query e-mail to PIF about doing an interview with a well known writer. At the time, about five years ago, it was the only fiction writer I knew, well-known or otherwise, aside from myself, if I could even count myself. I waited, waited patiently, but received no answer, and then forgot the whole request, until months later an e-mail arrived giving me the green light.

I don't know if I was in the right place, or some place, but I did the interview, and it went well, and by the time that issue of PIF was out, I had met a poet, whom I quickly interviewed and then I had two to my credit. And then shortly after that, one of my stories was published by a fairly prestigious literary journal, and I mustered the courage through e-mail, courage which I might never have called forth otherwise, and I searched out the editor of the journal, the editor who accepted my story, and we connected, and he recommended another writer for me to interview, which I did, and this writer became a friend, and then before I knew it, I was on a panel at the AWP Conference in Vancouver two years ago discussing the fiction of another well-known writer, with whom I had done an interview based on the writer who became a friend. So, there you go — you never know.

I have been exposed to two types of individuals in the creative writing field, at least in terms of those who interact with others, by teaching, or giving readings, or attending conferences and serving on panels and such. One group I call the luminaries who tend to view creative writing as a zero sum game. Somehow in their twisted logic it is believed that the success of another — a novel that receives great reviews, a poetry collection that wins a prestigious award — automatically directly impacts negatively on them. Such insecure luminaries, who appear anything but insecure, are similar to the neighbor whose friend wins a substantial sum in the lottery and instead of being happy for the neighbor's good fortune, the friend complains with a sinister snarl, "Who the hell does he think he is?"