From time to time I find myself wondering if somewhere back among the early twigs on my family tree, the following scene might have taken place…
MUG (his wife) shouts from the nearby cave: “Ug:The Aurox is overcooked! Stop what you’re doing and come to dinner!”
UG: “Can’t”—puff—puff—“stop—got—to finish chapter two—”
MUG: “The kids are hungry!”
UG: “Feed the kinds—I’ve got to build suspense here—-”
Well, you get the picture. I am absolutely certain that the compulsion to write has been in my family since, well, maybe not since UG and MUG, but close to it. A faculty with words is our most distinguishing characteristic. The one thing I learned quickly and easily as a child was the alphabet, followed by the rudiments of grammar. And with this basic equipment I have spent a great many years allowing and encouraging the stories in my head to flow down my right arm, through my pencil and onto an immense stack of paper to be typed at some point. Many of these stories remain moldering in my file cabinets, but—oh, joy—quite a few became published books.
I can therefore say that I understand people with this crazy compulsion to write BOOKS, and my advice is—DO IT!
The world is waiting for your book!