Michael D Ayres

Michael D Ayres

My journey as a writer didn’t begin in any formal way until April 2026, but the roots go back much further. To make sense of it, I tend to think of my life in three phases: as a dependent, as a husband and professional, and now, as an author.

Dependent

I was born at the front edge of the baby boomer generation. My parents married a year after World War II ended, and I arrived soon after. My childhood was, in many ways, idyllic. My father was a career Army officer — disciplined, principled, and unfailingly gracious. My mother was intelligent, cultured, and blessed with a remarkable soprano voice. Both were Kentuckians, and they raised me with the manners and morals they believed a young man should carry.

The defining experience of my youth was living in southern Germany during two of my father’s assignments. The first time, I was six; the second, thirteen. He extended that second tour twice, and I was nearly seventeen when we returned to the States. Germany in the late 1950s and early 1960s was a dream for a teenage Army brat — safe, beautiful, and endlessly fascinating.

We returned to Augusta, Georgia in 1964. I finished high school there, went on to college, graduated in 1970, and stayed two more years for a master’s degree. During that time, I met Diane one fall afternoon. Less than a year later, we were married.

Husband and Professional

Our first year of marriage was spent in a worn mobile home just off campus. I worked as a graduate assistant while we both finished school. After graduation, we moved to Savannah, Georgia, where my career began — and where a pattern quickly emerged. About every five years, I changed jobs. Along the way, we were blessed with four wonderful children who became the center of our lives. Because of my career, they lived in several places, which was sometimes a privilege and sometimes a curse, but they grew into healthy, professional adults with families of their own. Today, they are my loving watchdogs.

When I left college, I had no clear idea what profession I wanted. I bounced through several industries before landing in healthcare — more by accident than intention. That became my field for the next 46 years. For the first twenty, I served as a hospital and health system CFO. In the late 1970s, I left institutional healthcare for consulting, where I stayed for the remainder of my career.

In 2014, Diane was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. We were living in Arizona at the time. I left my job and brought her back to Savannah, becoming her full time caregiver until her passing in 2018.

Author

It may look like I suddenly appeared on the literary scene in April 2026, but that’s not the real story. I fell in love with books in high school — mostly fiction — and grew more serious about reading as I moved through college. The earliest writing I remember doing was when our children were young. I made up stories at the dinner table to keep them entertained until it was time for them to do the dishes. Diane kept many of those scraps in a box.

In 1984, a friend and I tried writing a book together — Who’s the Potter, Who’s the Clay. It never went anywhere. We had young families, demanding careers, and no idea how to write a book. Diane saved the remnants in her box.

My first real breakthrough came in 2001, when I wrote The Majic Dragon Wing for Diane as a 30th anniversary gift. I gave it to her at dinner in Williamsburg, Virginia. She loved it and wanted me to publish it, but I was working full time and needed artwork, so it went into her box with everything else.

After losing her, I spent two years adrift. Worried I was slipping into memory loss myself, I went back to college — creative writing and microeconomics. Turned out my brain was fine; I had simply been lazy. I spent the next five years traveling and reading. A lot.

Then one morning in April, I found the original Magic Dragon Wing manuscript. On impulse, I searched for self publishing options. All I wanted was fifteen copies for my children and grandchildren. I discovered The Pulp House Publishing Company, contacted them, and they thought the manuscript was worth developing.

That moment changed everything. I began pulling old work out of Diane’s box, modernizing it, and writing new material. I realized how much I didn’t know about writing, so I studied — classes, books on plot and character, research texts. Slowly, I developed a technique, a style, and a process. Each book feels stronger than the last.

Children’s books followed — most of them born during walks with my dog. I’d jot down narratives, send them to Pulp House, and they handled the art and editing. A few poems even became songs.

Now I write every day. It’s a full time job, and I’m committed to learning the craft and producing novels worthy of a reader’s time and money. That’s the challenge — and the joy — of this new chapter in my life.