It seemed as if every time I turned around, my writing was interrupted. I expected some but not all the interruptions. Most were brief, from a few days to a few weeks, but one shut me down for much longer. All were frustrating. I feared I would never finish my novels. The words churned in my head, desperate to get out.

Tax preparation took time out of each February and March. Vacations and trips took equally as long, but unlike taxes, they were fun.

The longest interruption was seven months of waiting for surgery, recovery and rehabilitation. It sorely tested my patience. The physical therapist warned me up front that she would cause me pain and that I should not expect any sympathy because she wouldn’t give it. She kept her word in spades, but when she was done, my joint worked well, and we were both pleased, as was my orthopod. And the long break was probably good for The Pig Parts Series, allowing me to return to it with fresh eyes.

And then, of course, the Coronavirus Pandemic and lockdown descended upon all of us. While it caused only minor interruptions to my editing, it disrupted my life. Things changed drastically. Plans and priorities changed. Long established routines changed. Suddenly, acquiring new and different skill sets became a matter of life and death. Like everyone else on the planet, I had to find ways to accept the changes and cope with deadly threats from invisible, ill-defined and unwelcome intruders.


After years of good intentions punctuated by starts, stops and neglected self promises, I have finally written a book. Actually I ended up with seven novels, The Pig Parts Series. I hope to get them published.

Everything I read from publishing experts informs me that I should establish an active presence on social media if I am to have a chance of publication in a world rife with aspiring authors and legions of hopeful manuscripts. Hence this blog.

The deliberate involvement of strangers in my life does not fit with the privacy I have always enjoyed. It was difficult enough to record fictional  thoughts and feelings knowing others might one day read them. Documenting personal observations and opinions to attract potential readers to my hopeful literary career is foreign to my sensibilities. I was raised on the philosophy underpinning the famous quote from Thomas Fuller, a seventeenth century English churchman and historian: “Fools names, likes fools faces – Are often seen in public places.” Amen to that.

While I want to be published, and I want my books to be enjoyed by others, I have never desired fame. Fortune, of course, would be nice.

I have always wanted to write a book. I suppose I wanted to be like J.D. Salinger, a writer so skilled that the only interaction he had to have with the reading public was to speak cordially to the post office clerk who accepted his manuscript for posting to his publisher. After that, he escaped back into self-imposed exile in the countryside. His publisher took care of promoting and selling his book. Salinger was left with more time to do what he did best – write. That sounded good to me.

But alas! That world appears to be long gone, at least for a wannabe like me who will never measure up to Salinger. So here I am interacting, or so I hope.