Like many people, I had a few days off over the recent holiday season. Being a working-class writer is not easy, since most employers demand their pound of flesh, and then some, so taking a few days to write was, in a word, bliss. The new year begins with a new round of responsibilities and a boss making renewed demands for more time. As it is, the time I have to write is measured in minutes rather than hours. I keep hoping that this will be the year that I’m noticed. Well, I may be exaggerating there a bit. I started writing fiction, by my recollection, in about 1975. It may have been earlier, given how sloppy those initial manuscript pages look. In a working-class family, I didn’t have the first idea about how to get published. I’m still learning. 2014 was a boon to me, with four fiction pieces published in one calendar year. That has never happened before. I first started sending out potential publications in 2009, an...
Blog of a struggling writer.