Search

I started out writing this blog with the very best of intentions. Take an hour or so a couple of times a week and write something of earth-shattering significance. I knew that was never going to happen. What I did not expect was the gnawing realization that I was becoming responsible for a 1-month, then 2-month, then a yawning 10-month gap in blogging.


What happened?


I lead a pretty ordinary life, I guess. There was never any certainty dwelling in what passes for my soul about the value of my blogging observations. Friends and family expressed delight with my efforts, but -- let's be honest -- they have to say that -- or they think they do.


Given such a predisposition on my part, it's been easy to backslide. On top of that, my agent is no longer my agent, having been recruited into communications job in a publishing house in New York. She used to hold my feet to the fire about blogging and social media. When she was around, I stayed the course. Apparently, I am tractable if there's a whip and a scourge handy. Of course, there was neither a whip or a scourge; she just suggested politely that I get cracking, and I did.


It seems I need an agent/nanny, but I'm pretty sure most agents will just be nodding their head in mute agreement at this observation. Came as a surprise to me, though. I always thought I was pretty dependable.


But not when it comes to something I love to do. In the past 10 months, I've finished writing first drafts of two more books -- Death of the Dancing Doll (another in the Urquhart & MacDonald mystery series) and More Frayd Then Hurt (a comic novel about the discovery of a lost Jacobean play).


When it comes to this business of authoring, it turns out it's the writing I love. It's the writing that distracts me. Weak-willed and easily led. I'm ready for anything.



5 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

I have long been an admirer of the work of Michael Korda, both as an editor and as a writer. His latest book, Passing, is the story of the death of his wife. Its sub-title is A Memoir of Love and Deat

I realized about three years ago I didn't actually have to listen to the news, watch the news, or read the news. No matter where I was or what I was doing, I would hear from someone about what was goi

When I was still in high school, I was asked by the publisher of my town’s newspaper to take charge of the back page of the paper. The back page was a prominent spot, and it was to be given over to ne