It’s summer on the North Coast of America. Here I sits once again, accompanied by my Aussies Sasha and Bohdi, thinking.
Whenever someone asked me what I would do if the medicine thing didn’t work out, I always gave the same answer: I’d be a writer. As a young man, I was a voracious reader, pretty much any and all genres. I read enough to realize that it would be highly likely that I would starve writing what might be called “literature”; even “literary science fiction” seemed to be a (Read more...)