“I’m told my name lends itself to authorship because it’s a little different,” he answers.
It’s got about a million inhabitants now, but I don’t remember seeing half of them. He died, and when people were clearing out his cottage they found a box filled with hitherto unseen wonderful poems that he had written over a period of some sixty years.
Depending on the amount of time I give them to respond this may mean sometimes carrying over to the next Sunday.
Read more: pal and fellow scribbler, Eric Gates, him what’s let me loose on his virtual space without so much as an Interpol disclaimer or an Alsatian dog-handler present, has asked me to give some insight into life as an author in the Middle East, given that many of *us/we/us (*delete whichever you can’t grammatically handle) professional expatriate souls ply our trade in similar far-flung foreign fiefdoms (try saying that six times swiftly with a dram or three aboard.) Specifically what, if any, restrictive impact there may be creating a marketing presence for our books.
I have some poems I wrote dating back to 1964, and many others that I’ve lost on the way through this great journey called living.
Read more: DAVIDPRESTIDGE Written by Seumas Gallacher – Jack Calder is an ex-SAS soldier working with former colleagues in ISP, a specialist security firm.
Just one caring, genuine, and authentic person, asking.