No one is an island, and suddenly many of us feel like castaways: marooned and alone.
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.
When he read my first two novels (he did not live to read the third) and saw "himself" (including my fictionalizing "a crush" he had had on a girl friend of mine), he revealed to me that he thought it was hilarious and was even touched.
Nonsense that has nothing to do with our work or craft is pervasive on social media too. I have had a few idiots message or email me over the years, but I know I am fortunate I have never had to endure sexually suggestive DMs and emails from what appear to be real people. Obviously being a now slightly, uh, more mature man of course probably helps in that area.
Let's discuss sex.
Presumably I have now your full attention! LOL!
My wife had to have a minor (we hope) procedure and *chose* to have it yesterday rather than a weekday. She was offered the option of the Sunday appointment and we had supposed the hospital would be quieter and so it might all be a bit less stressful. "Quieter" turned out to be, well, an understatement.
So change is happening. We are moving. My posts this week, possibly into next... well, there may not be any.
My mother never knew any of my books even existed because I was certain she would have been unhappy with them; I didn't see the point of creating trouble and my uncle had agreed with me on that...
I entitled this post "Flowers On The Edge" at the last minute because I had felt she was much like a lovely flower and always living on the cutting edge of life - determined to live well no matter what.
"Today is your birthday. Actually, it was February 29... and that was you. Of course you were born on a leap year. You couldn't have had just an ordinary day every year like the rest of us."
The first time I ever mentioned - back in university nearly three decades ago - that I was interested in visiting France, my mother turned to me and was immediately harshly negative: "Are you nuts? They hate us."
If I think back here to where I was at age 20 (then, I was living in Fairbanks, Alaska), and then at 30 (I was in Paris), and then at 40 (I was married by then and here in London), and, uh, well, you get the idea...
Wherever you are reading this, and in case you have never read any of my novels and perhaps do so, I warn you here so you are not shocked at the content you will encounter...
100 years ago, this month, a great-great uncle of my wife's was killed in Belgium in World War I...
October 12, 2015: A black day I'll never forget.