That Matter Of Life Or Death

That Matter Of Life Or Death

Presumably - and we hope - today will not be THE last day. But every morning, every day now, I suspect, could be that day. We brace ourselves so we are not shocked.

“I just didn’t want to be alive any more”

“I just didn’t want to be alive any more”

Nothing in that "interview" with the duchess was more upsetting, I felt, really, than her stating she had wished not to live any longer.

Remember Restaurants?

Remember Restaurants?

When I saw that article mentioned on Instagram again yesterday, I started to think about my own pandemic relationships.

Half A Decade Ago

Half A Decade Ago

I took a moment to be alone with her: I kissed her now lifeless forehead, and paused as I thought briefly on how while her troubles were mercifully over our lives going forward would never be the same...

He Was 89

He Was 89

Aged 89, my father-in-law died unexpectedly early Monday morning (nothing to do with the stupid virus insofar as we know) at his home here in London.

The “Worth” Of (Your) Writing

The “Worth” Of (Your) Writing

"Everyone writes books now": In an innocent and not nasty way, an elderly aunt said that to me a few years back. In a way, she was right.

The Missed

The Missed

Pondering time may be unnerving and even scary. Naturally, though, it goes by - as a famous song declares. It is inescapable.

But in all of that is also at least GREAT potential material for a writer. LOL!

These Weeks

These Weeks

I admit I have never so had the s-it scared out of me as I have felt at times since March. I did not even feel the same about my father's 2014 heart failure (from which he recovered), or even my mother's and my uncle's deaths in 2015. These have been the most unsettling weeks in my life.

Into The Secret Diary

Into The Secret Diary

My cousin in New Jersey, prompted I gather from all of our exchanges about her daughter's writings, emailed me that she had the other day bought ALL of my novels.

Something Worth The Reading

Something Worth The Reading

Simply having a story to tell is not enough.

Yourself And Your Other Self

Yourself And Your Other Self

So much for "privacy," and "controlling" and "protecting" your personal data, eh?

Up From The Ruins

Up From The Ruins

The holiday happiness all around me was not making me happier; it was getting on my nerves. I'm unhappy with certain other extended "family" so-called relationships as well. Other life issues are also frustrating me. It all became an angry jumble, bubbling under my surface as the day wore on. I was "overheating."

While She Was Alive

While She Was Alive

Over the previous three years, I had also fictionalized her in three novels, the last being that one above. In them I included reconstructions of various real-life interactions and even disagreements between us from back when I was in my 20s and young 30s. She never knew I had sneakily done that.

The Questionings

The Questionings

I've been deliberately reserved especially towards younger members of the family. The reason for that is simple: aside from the first book of that trilogy, Passports, which is probably the closest I’ve come to writing what might be termed borderline “young adult,” my novels are not really meant for "under-18s."

What Family Leaves Us

What Family Leaves Us

My grandmother is long gone. My mother is now too. My dad remains - and I know I shall miss him terribly whenever he too is gone.