You’ve Got A Friend

And you are many, sending my love and gratitude.

Image: Author. The Bear is from my childhood. All he says all day long is, “shit!” and was always in the cockpit.

We, you and I, all of us, began as strangers, names on a screen. Then we were many. We interact using words, which transform into hugs and become close. We are writers and readers. We have no grand ideas about being great writers; we try only to be competent.

The comments I’ve received are much more than words of appreciation; they are affection. If I convey nothing else, understand the power of feeling loved.

As a child, I started writing on the ferry, going from Craignure to Oban. It was a journey of about 40 minutes. Even then, ideas ruminated on future stories, tall tales, such as my father told. They continued years later, even as I rode the Metropolitan Line train from Eastcote to Baker Street, clattering through Harrow-on-the Hill, Wembley Park, and Finchley Road.

I began to wonder how long it would take to write a novel. I decided on 500 words a trip—there and back was 1,000 words a day—taking just four months to reach an acceptable novel length. I produced nothing resembling a novel but a set of stories, each around 1,000 words long.

No one wants to publish short stories, at least by an unknown author, and not stories that take less time to read than to suppress a sneeze!