I wanted to be a writer. I wanted the freedom of thought that would allow me to create my own kingdoms and to find my own treasures. I wanted something that others probably believe is unobtainable. I wanted to be a writer.
So, I set about the task of teaching myself how to write. I started off with short stories. One of my earliest was a tiny tome called, Shark Island. I think I still have it somewhere but can give you an outline of its voluminous plot. Basically, Bond on an Island with lots of baddies and a beautiful girl. Throw in a gun, a speedboat and a gyrocopter and you have it. Not a literary success with any audience other than myself, but a start.
From there on there came some painful poetry, etching out emotional turmoil on philosophical feet made of mud. I wrote diaries that plotted…
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