Yesterday, as I drove to my first therapy appointment in over a decade (except for one brief stint with a woman who gave me panic attacks with her silent approach to therapy), I thought I might like to put effort I to becoming published, for real. I have a collection of essays, the life stories of people who live in affordable housing, as told to me and a friend in 2013. The goal has always been (vaguely) to turn them into a book. I have no resources and no knowledge, no following or money, but the time seems right. And I am tired of saying “someday” for this project that changed the way I look at the world.