I realized this morning that I’m old. Not growing old, just old. This not to say I’ve reached the end of my creative cycle because there are still stories to tell. I have one story that is ready to be published, but I’ve lost contact with my editor (Sharon).
Such is life that I should still have stories to be published, but no editor to review them prior to publishing. I await contact with my prior editor to be reestablished, but so far I don’t think much is going to occur in that direction.
I have a new story coming out of my mind. It deals with a young boy who, after the death of his father, is sent to live with his grandfather (a retired U.S. Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant), and a retired Colonel, a Staff Sergeant, two Lance Corporals, and a Staff Sergeant who lives in the basement. In many ways it is the story of a young boy living with the horrors of military PTSD, while at the same time dealing with a budding interest in sex.
I’ll work on the story and hopefully reach some point of nexus where the story interconnects with its original premise.
Where, oh where, is my editor?