My own story

Dave with laptop on beach house porch.
In search of just the right words

I’ve been a writer of one kind or another for most of my life. My first gig was knocking out news for radio stations in Ann Arbor, Michigan. After a few bumps in the road, like including driving a cab and spinning Muzak records, I became a reporter and editor for the Voice of America, broadcasting all over the world. That’s me in front of the helicopter during a European trip.

I began pursuing my passion for fiction with A New Grateful Nation, a war story built around a #MeToo incident and published before the term was invented. My work has appeared in these fine journals and online magazines: Adelaide Literary Magazine, the Fictional Cafe, Close To the Bone, the Birmingham Arts Journal, the Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Flora Fiction, the Red Fez, and Sledgehammer Lit.

I’m grateful to my parents for sparking my interest in reading and introducing me to The New Yorker in all its greatness. My heroes include Roddy Doyle, Ann Tyler, Garrison Keillor, Lauren Groff, Carl Hiaasen, Truman Capote, Susan Orlean, John Le Carré, and Hemingway. I found inspiration for my upcoming novel “Back Beach Blues” on the Florida Panhandle once I figured out that the South is more hospitable to authors than my previous homes Up North.

In addition to writing fiction, I work as a free-lance editor and communicator. I blog about the pandemic, proper language and grammar (or “How Two Right Good English”), baldness, even sexbots. I live with my wife Janet, who’s also my muse and grammar guru, in Atlanta, where I belong to the Atlanta Writers Club.

The way to write is well, and how is your own business. Nothing else on the subject makes sense.

A. J. Liebling
Sunset at Florida beach.
That’s all for now