Incorgnito Author

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Michael Conant

Michael Conant is the publisher and founder of Incorgnito Publishing Press.
Before entering the world of book publishing, Michael spent over twenty years in b2b publishing. He served as a circulation, sales, and marketing executive, managing products across several industries, with a concentration in financial publications.

Prior to his foray into publishing, Michael pursued his love of theater as an actor, singer, director, and producer at regional theaters, dinner theaters, and at several Off-Off Broadway theaters. Michael introduced New York audiences to the American premier of Hal Shaper’s musical adaptation of Jane Eyre, which featured Michael as Rochester along with a very young Alyssa Milano as his ward, Adelle.
Shortly after moving to Pasadena, CA, Mr. Conant was introduced to Cure Mito, an organization of “Mito Moms” dedicated to funding Mitochondrial Disease research in support of Dr. Richard Boles at Los Angeles Children’s Hospital. Michael helped the group secure non-profit status and was elected as the organization’s first president.

In between his publishing duties and new writing efforts, Michael plays a lot of tennis with his South Pasadena, Arroyo Secco teammates. He also spends free time visiting with family and getting “puppy” kisses from his niece’s lovable, crazy Bernedoodle, Bentley. (b3ntley_zefluff on Instagram)

Mr. Conant is also the co-author of David Margrave: The plumber who outwitted the IRS. He may be contacted at


Mother’s Child

It was just past lunchtime during a cold October day in New England. The brisk air carried the sweet smell of autumn as it swirled the early fallen leaves. I sat on the edge of a curb, dazed.

I was vaguely aware of my surroundings and the fresh scent. I didn’t take much note of the late afternoon traffic inching by or the crowd of people who had gathered along the sidewalks. Nor did I give thought to why I was sitting there. A large hand gently cupped my shoulder. A man kindly asked, “Are you alright ma’am?” 

I glanced up at him and then back down. I stared unblinkingly at the gold and orange leaves plastered along the wet gutter. Flashing red, blue, and white lights danced across their surface. I didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone just yet. He bent down and I could feel his eyes searching my face. 

His dark blue uniform looked familiar. He stood, and I slowly tilted my head up. My gaze cleared. For a moment I stared into his concerned brown eyes. 

“Yes,” I managed to say. “Yes, I think so.” I followed unconvincingly. 

“Are you hurt?” He came around and stood in front of me. He pointed to the elongated red stain of blood, now nearly dried on the front of my white blouse. I looked to where he pointed but said nothing. 

He crouched in front of me and took my hand into his large grip. He turned my palm upward, revealing dried blood that had settled into the thin creases of my life line. His previous question registered in my sluggish brain. 

“It isn’t my blood,” I said quietly.