My Story
I grew up in Poland in a house with few books but constant reading. We borrowed them from school or the public library and carried them home like treasure. By ten I was writing poems—serious ones, about carpet makers and street beggars. At twelve I adapted a Thomas Mann story into a play about a hypnotist who turns a seaside crowd into communists. And then life happened, life that sometimes felt more fictional, more surreal, than anything Kafka or Orwell imagined.
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I started anew in the US and writing slipped away.
Decades later, recovering from surgery on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, I found my way back. John Barth, a neighbor, encouraged me to study writing; Robert Stone praised my first novel; and I kept filling my drawers with stories. But only now, in my late sixties, I’ve decided to share these long-shelved pages.
My story as a writer—decades in the making—is, in its truest sense, only just beginning.
From reviews of Lucky Me
“An exceptionally accomplished book that is both thrilling and amusing, while also imbued with profound pathos.”
Avner Landes, writer
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