From Soda Jerk to Author

But I can still whip up a tasty crushed peanut sundae!

My first job in high school, other than babysitting, was as a soda jerk at Irwin’s Drugstore in Langhorne, a charming small town in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

Those were the days when drugstores dispensed prescriptions, sold cosmetics, greeting cards, and toiletries — yes, I know it sounds just like today’s mega pharmacies, but wait for it — and had a lunch counter behind which I stood ready to make sandwiches, whip up milkshakes or sell ice cream cones, Tastykakes, and, of course, sodas.

Hence the name soda jerk.

After college, I was hired by The Bulletin in Philadelphia as a copywriter in advertising and then as the editor of the letters to the editor.

Then, one fateful day in 1979, there was an opening for an editorial writer. How perfect! I was already in the department, so it would only be a matter of moving to a different desk. This struck me as very efficient.

Persuading the editor of the editorial page to give me a shot at the job despite my lack of experience was another matter.

He kindly offered to give me a tryout. Pick an issue and write an editorial or two.

I searched for something really big — corruption, drugs, the mayor?

And then my little sister called.

Bruce Springsteen was coming to the Spectrum, a major concert venue in Philly. My sister had camped out all night to buy a ticket only to discover that they were sold out before she got to the ticket window. This was before the Internet when paper tickets were purchased in person.

She was upset. I was thrilled. I had my issue!

How could tickets sell out so fast? Lisa was right there. As were ticket scalpers who got first dibs and resold them at ridiculous prices. 

My editorials calling for a crackdown on ticket scalping ran. The Spectrum changed its ticket-selling policy, and Billboard magazine credited The Bulletin editorials with the change.

The job was mine.

Unfortunately, The Bulletin folded three years later, in 1982.

I wasn’t my fault, honest!

I then crisscrossed the country as a journalist until I was informed that I was going to become a single parent — you know, divorced. My five-year-old needed stability and I needed to earn more money.

Public relations to the rescue.

Two decades later, I decided it was time to live my dream of writing murder mysteries. Murder at Twin Beeches is the first in a series, and my characters and I are hard at work on book two.

Writing fiction is a solitary endeavor — until your characters believe in you. Thank you, guys.