This blog is about my journey back in to writing, after a ten year break. I started writing at the age of 40 when I was a London taxi driver. I had always had a head full of ideas, stories and plots going around and around in my mind. Being a taxi driver was a bit like having my very own confessional. The customers would tell methings that they wouldn’t tell their best friend. Much of it was obvious outright lies, it couldn’t be anything else, but then isn’t that what fiction is, lies? Then there were the times when I was alone in my cab, between jobs or taking a break. My mind would be working overtime. Sometimes a customer might have annoyed me and I would change the incident in my mind until they were suffering some minor incovenience or grizzly fate, depending on what they had done to annoy me. Then around ten years ago I was badly hit by some very serious health problems, that caused me to have to take early retirement. These problems involved kidney failure, heart disease and arthritis in most of my joints. My mother died, my grandson was still born with Spina Bifida and my oldest sister died, all within a short time of these other problems. I became depressed and spent almost all of my time indoors. Self pity had never been one of my characteristics, but it certainly became one at this time, and for many months too.
I had to do something about it and now, not later
