The Story Deserves to Be Told

I almost quit.

After months of writing, editing, sharing vulnerable stories from my life, and getting nothing but silence from literary agents, I sat at my desk and thought, Maybe this is it. Maybe no one cares.

But that’s not the whole story.

I’ve done everything they say you’re supposed to do.

I broke through the automatic negative thoughts. I started blogging again—writing from the heart, one post at a time. I opened up about my struggles, my setbacks, my fears, my family, and my faith. I let people in, not just to the polished moments, but to the broken ones. And something amazing happened.

People started reading. People I hadn’t heard from in decades reached out. They shared memories. They told me these stories mattered. That they meant something.

So I kept going.

I created what I now call the Dog Story Universe. I wrote about Aunt Loretta and where she lives now. I wrote about the USS Cole, about MF DOOM sleeping on my couch, about the Blizzard of ’99. I wrote about the ANTs that once took over my brain and how I fought to take my mind back. I promised I’d take the Tom Wolfe approach—sharing my story piece by piece, trusting that the right readers would find it. And I kept that promise.

People are connecting with me, not because I’m trying to sell them something, but because I’m giving away what’s in my heart.

And yet… every time I send out a query letter, I’m reminded of what the publishing world really values.

Not story.
Not voice.
Not redemption, or resilience, or hope.
But followers. Pageviews. Platform. A name they can sell.

If I were Prince Harry or Bill Belichick or some B-list influencer, this would already be a hardcover. But I’m not a celebrity. I’m just a guy who’s lived through some things and decided to write them down. I believe stories—real stories—can still change lives.

Here’s my dream:

I want to walk through an airport one day and see The Dog Story on the shelf. I want someone to pick it up on a layover, crack it open at 30,000 feet, and start to cry quietly, mid-flight, while the person in the next seat pretends not to notice. I want them to close the book on the final page and feel a little less alone. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll hand it to someone else who needs it next.

That’s what books used to do. That’s what I still believe they can do.

Sure, I could self-publish. I could run Facebook ads, push digital promos, and chase sales metrics. I’ve thought about it. A lot. But if I go that route, the dream changes. That moment in the airport—that unexpected life interrupted by grace—it disappears.

I’m not here to game an algorithm.

I still believe in stories.
I still believe in this story.
And I believe dreams are still worth chasing.

But I can’t do it alone.

If you’ve ever read one of my posts and felt something—if a memory stirred, or a tear welled, or a breath caught in your throat—please, help me. Share this. Like it. Subscribe. Tell a friend. Not for clicks. But so maybe, just maybe, this story finds the person who needs it most.

I’m not selling anything.
I’ll never share your data.
I’m just trying to give something honest away for free.

Because I’m not giving up.
Not now. Not ever.
The Dog Story still deserves to be told.