Hazards of the Modern Writer-Postman. Episode 15

2023 has proved quite a challenge for this writer-postman. Not a lot of writing done. Not a lot of postmanning done either.

I can usually produce a polished manuscript in twelve months. It’s true that the twelve months of 2023 aren’t up yet, but the odds of me offering a completed crime novel manuscript are not good.

The reasons for this are neither writerly or postmanly. They are deeply personal – but I am willing to share them with the cyber world. I’m not giving away state secrets or deeply buried feelings. They are real.

After a protracted illness, my beloved Father died in June 2023. He was a humble man with a great sense of humour and a warmth and love for others that I only hope I can aspire to. I don’t think I ever heard him swear or speak ill of others. Even when he was dying he wanted what was best for everyone else. I love him and miss him greatly.

I underwent two surgeries. A hand operation in May and an emergency appendectomy only last weekend. These have seen me off work at the Post Office since May.

My wife also underwent surgery. Throughout this year we have acted as each other’s carer. I have learned from these experiences that ours is a very very special love/relationship/friendship and I cherish it deeply.

But not all distractions from writing/postmanning were not sad or painful. Far from it. In September I was blessed to become a grandfather again with the birth of my first granddaughter. A bonny sister for my grandson. I cherish them both. They bring light to my gloomy world.

To writing: My novel-in-progress Mule sits on 52,000 words. I am amazed I have that many words down. The manuscript progresses slowly, but surely. I am pleased with the narrator’s voice – a 17 year-old young man from Sydney’s western suburbs – who gets caught up in a drugs deal gone wrong thanks to his feckless father, a broken-down ex-footballer. I think, if I can ever finish it, that it will be snapped up by publishers. Crime fiction authors (and their publishers) continue to stain the streets of rural Australia with blood. I’ve moved crime back to the city, but to the seldom used working class suburbs out west.

And now Christmas and a new year looms. I can only hope for good health for myself and family and that the words continue to flow for Mule.

What I’m listening to when I write (or recuperate) . . . ‘The Car’ by Arctic Monkeys. Do yourself a favour and have a listen . . .

As for postmanning? I may have delivered my last letter and the Post Office and I may be parting ways, soon.

Until next time . . . bye bye bye.