Michael Sears

sears michaelPhoto: ©2011 Rod Goodman

When I was very young, I dreamed of one day having a job reading. My mother, who always encouraged my voracious and eclectic taste in books, introduced me to the New York Times Book Review. Look at all these people who get paid to read and write about books, I thought. I could do that!

Years passed and I became quite adept at writing book reviews. I wish I still had them; I’d love to see what I once wrote about Freddy and the Baseball Team From Mars (“Not the best in Walter Brooks’ series, featuring the sensible Freddy the Pig, but an interesting addition. Taken as a whole, these books will provide a discerning reader with all the lessons of life in an admirably entertaining package.”) or whether Thurber’s Fables for Our Time held up 20 years after publication. (It did.)

Somewhere in there was the nugget of an idea that writing, the constant second-best to reading, might be something that I could do with my life other than sailing (which I already realized paid even less than writing) or lying on a beach (I did lifeguard for a few summers, which was as close as I got). At some point I was introduced to the concept of the slush pile and for a while I held aspirations of someday rising to the lofty level of a slush-pile reader. Having a sense now of what that truly entails, I genuflect to every intern who has spent a summer reading manuscripts and dashing the dreams of scores of scribblers.

Along the way, I tried any number of ways of avoiding a writing career. I played guitar in a rock band, I acted upon the stage, I waited tables, I tended bar, then I went to grad school and worked on Wall Street for 20 years or so. All so that I would not have to plunk my butt in a chair and just “write the damn book already!”

I am no longer an accomplished procrastinator, though I admit that I have gone so far as to balance the checkbook rather than finish writing a difficult scene. Somehow the discipline of working hard has over the years become a habit that is hard to break. Given the opportunity to lie on a beach or sail a boat, I find that I am often plotting the next chapter or re-imagining the motive of a character. I am writing and I am having the time of my life.

After receiving an MBA from Columbia University, Michael Sears spent more than 20 years on Wall Street, rising to become the Managing Director in the bond trade and underwriting divisions of Paine Webber and, later, Jeffries & Co. Heeding his father’s advice: “When it stops being fun, get out,” Sears left the business in 2005 and returned to what had always given him the greatest joy – writing. Studying at NYU and the New School, he published his first novel at 61, Black Fridays, which was nominated for the Edgar, Anthony, Barry, Shamus, and ITW Thriller Award, winning the Shamus. His second in the acclaimed series, Mortal Bonds, was published in 2013 and won the Silver Falchion Award for Best Crime Thriller. Sears lives in Sea Cliff, New York, with his wife, artist Barbara Segal.

This "Writers on Reading" essay was originally published in "At the Scene" eNews February 2015 as a first-look exclusive to our enewsletter subscribers. For more special content available first to our enewsletter subscribers, sign up here.

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