I’m just coming out of one of the longest dries for many years. I am frightened that age is overtaking me and a mixture of heavenly leisure and the humdrum ailment of flu have conspired to close down my once active mind. Why write at all?
Well, I rather enjoy it for its own sake. Very few people buy my books but I don’t really mind too much. Of course, I’d rather be successful and see my paperbacks lined up along the beach, but I know in my heart of hearts that’s really unlikely ever to happen. So why am I so afraid of giving up my time-consuming hobby?
For one thing, the maxim, if you don’t use it, you lose it. For another, I think I sometimes write well whether its poetry or prose, for another I am still discovering the limits to my own imagination, The latter is tremendous fun, though I know I try to write about believable things, ordinary things and ordinary people. None of my leads are heroes, rather the opposite usually afraid of violence and washed up by time and tides beyond their control.
No detective series for me, no medical or military giants coping with heroic challenges. Just ordinary people in extraordinary scenarios, so that each work I undertake is different from the last. The drama of jealousy, grief, manipulation, error, and just growing old, are for me some of the subjects that are worth writing about.
So this short blog will I hope, get me back to work. My latest effort is evolving into a novel about old age, growing old and approaching the end of life. The choices and the challenges my characters face and how they may resolve them.
Sounds dull? Well maybe it is, but tomorrow I promise I’ll be back to work on my new book; “Where the swallows fly”. A few folk may well read it but they won’t get half the pleasure I shall writing it.
In the meantime, The following books languish unloved in the masses of the Kindles and Amazons of this world, “The Psychedelic Traveller” “The Poisoned Banquet” “The Accidental Spy” “Smiles in Africa”, “My Boy – a memoir” They’re not all that bad, why not buy one.