The time has come to close the shop.
April of 2010, I began writing the first part of a long story that had been swirling inside my head for too long and it needed to be freed. April of 2012, part one of the story was published, and like Victor Frankenstein, I screamed, “It’s Alive!”
I started this site shortly thereafter for the purpose of promoting my books, but the interest I had hoped for never materialized.
Since I began this great adventure, I have scribbled down many stories, long and short, but I am not a writer, and to call myself one would be dishonest. I simply self-published three poorly edited books. I could not afford proper editing, which is a must.
A writer by definition is someone who writes. I have learned it is not so straightforward. It is a profession that requires dedication, persistence, a vivid imagination, and the ability to create something from nothing.
It is hard to fathom that two USB flash drives, in a small wooden box, hold 11 years of thoughts.
Alas, the age of compliance has no tolerance for a dinosaur like me, so I must say . . .