Books and hotdogs.
I’d written 33 novels, worked in ICUs, ran medical simulation labs and oversaw the design and construction of a middle school. But, at 47, I’d reached a crossroads.
All I’d ever wanted to do, really, was to work for myself, sell some books, and make a living.
It was a joke at first, “Hotdogs in the Pacific North West are terrible, I should open a hotdog cart.”
And then, one day, it stopped being a joke. I wanted to do it. I kinda had to.
People love hotdogs. I love hotdogs. But not just any hotdogs. Vienna all-beef hotdogs, the original, manufactured in Chicago since 1893. With black sesame seed buns and bright green relish. But you can’t get Vienna hotdogs here in the Pacific Northwest. So I figured why not combine the thing I miss most about Chicago with selling books? Steady income, bringing the glory of Vienna hotdogs and Polish to my new home and steady exposure to the public for my books…what could be more American than that?