By Mary Lou Dickinson
After I retired from my job at the Assaulted Women’s Helpline, I was determined to have a book published. Following almost a lifetime of writing and raising two children as a single parent as well as working at various other jobs, there were a few of my short stories in literary periodicals. But as yet no book.
My goal then became to have that first book published by the time I turned seventy. How I would do that eluded me. I decided I would take short courses at Humber School for Writers. At their suggestion, I joined a writing group. But five years had passed and I was almost seventy. And although various submissions were made, the contract for that book hadn’t yet happened.
One evening in 2006, I went to the Toronto Women’s Bookstore to hear two authors read from their new books. At some point, I met Luciana Ricciutelli, the editor of Inanna Publications, the small press that had published them.
“I’m looking for a collection of short stories,” she said, inviting me to submit some. “Two or three.“
Inanna Publications, known best until then for a scholarly publication, Canadian Woman Studies, had recently started to publish trade books. I had purchased that feminist, academic journal for the crisis line library. It was a fine journal, but I could not imagine my stories fitting into such an erudite academic atmosphere. Nonetheless, I took her invitation seriously and considered how to submit my manuscript, then in the hands of the agent at the Humber School for Writers.
Before doing anything, I corresponded with Margaret Hart, the agent who had accepted me as a client after a workshop I participated in with Alistair McLeod as the mentor. He had previously published two of my stories in the University of Windsor Review and when we talked at Humber, recommended me to Margaret. Her reply was to go ahead and submit the manuscript with her offer of representation if it were accepted. So I sent off a query letter to Luciana with three stories.
Within twenty-four hours, I received a request to submit my complete manuscript. From my previous experience with publishers, I had expected to wait a long time. But around two weeks later, I opened an e-mail to find an acceptance for the short story collection. Such a speedy turnaround, almost unheard of in my knowledge or experience of the publishing world, astonished me. Not only that, but the publisher and editor, Luciana Ricciutelli, suggested publication the following spring. I wondered if I were dreaming, then felt as if my success had happened overnight. It was, of course, an illusion dispelled by the knowledge it had taken over forty years, time that spanned a lifetime of writing, revising, submitting, and waiting. And waiting.
I reread the words of the email − Inanna wants to publish your stories. All night, my heart pounded. As I lay there wondering if this were the precursor to a heart attack, I kept reminding myself this was good stress.
I managed to correspond with Luciana, receive a copy of a contract, buy the model contract provided by the Writers’ Union of Canada and ask Margaret Hart to represent me.
Having the book appear just before my 70th birthday was the best gift I could hope for. I began to think of answering questions for publicity. I had been told the way to do this was to create a story about my own life that would appeal to journalists and critics. “Well, I had thought I would deal with this decade with massive denial, but this book has outed me. So here I am, a writer with her first book at almost seventy. It sounds like a late start, but I’ve been writing since I was a child. And I intend to keep on going.” The publicity hook for my book and my life as an author was bound to be connected to my present age.
“This is what old looks like.” The way Gloria Steinem said, “This is what sixty looks like.”
This acceptance, my book that was finally published in 2007 with the rather ironic title, One Day It Happens, created a burst of energy. There were no blank pages in my life at that moment. And as I spread the good news, I witnessed broad smiles crossing faces, eyes lighting up.
How I felt about myself as a writer began to change subtly, giving me new confidence. And this good news led to new adventures. There was a book launch in downtown Toronto where friends and acquaintances gathered to celebrate with me. They listened as I read, the light shining through the stained-glass window behind me. To my surprise, almost everyone bought at least one copy.
And One Day It Happens received a much-coveted review in the Globe and Mail. That fall, my first book tour unfolded with readings in Vancouver and stops in Ste. Anne and Winnipeg, Manitoba. I had crossed a metaphorical bridge to a new stage of my life. At 70 years of age, doors began to open onto new vistas.
Bio: Mary Lou Dickinson lives in a downtown condo in Toronto, Canada with a tree at her window as reminder of her roots in a northern Quebec frontier mining town. She enjoyed a varied career that ended with 15 years as a crisis telephone counsellor for assaulted women. Her first published piece, at age 6, was a poem in her grandmother’s food column in the Toronto Telegram. Able to devote her retirement to writing, she now has five published books in various genres – literary fiction, mystery, as well as a ready for publication memoir. At 87, she is still writing and has completed another collection of short stories and is working on a novel.
