Although some of my most read blogs are about my medical history, I do not intend to use these pages to chronicle my growing confinement, unless asked to, one reason is it is not fun to read. Another reason is it is hard to write a page when I can tell you what is happening in a few sentences, much like my story writing, I am a man of few words.
For some time, I have known that my blog has a substantial following in the old Soviet states, and today's figures give me more proof as most of the readers are from Chechnya.
I have often been asked, why I get such a strong response from the old Russia, I have no definitive answer, but I think they like my style of gritty writing. I am more used to writing about life, and its struggles as in the Harry Palmer novels, than the glamorous role of spies like James Bond.
When I was on Upwork as a ghostwriter, I was asked to write a story for a client like the James Bond stories, but I couldn't as I cannot relate to the lifestyle of the wealthy.
I don’t take a lot of notice of the ratings on Amazon, but when I am in a state of doubt about my ability as a writer, to see my selection – not the books I used to write – have days of big leaps is heartening for me.
In these days when I struggle to write, I find it hard to believe that I once wrote 10,000 words a week for several months. True, it did take its toll as my friends were worried I was going to have a breakdown as I couldn't go two days without writing.
THE WALL How things changed three years ago when I realized no matter what I did, I was unable to force sales for my stories. The early days of my struggle were hard, but the longer I went on, the easier it became not to write. For years I was plagued by a multitude of ideas, to the extent, they stopped me from sleeping. It was at this point I decided to mentally block the thoughts, a process I have now mastered, not that sleep is easier to come by.
Several years ago when I was living with a lady friend in Canada, she recommended to me the book The Haunted Mesa by Loius L'Amour as we both love to read western fiction.
I have to say, I love his WF, but this was something or nothing, it started well, but after 50 pages you get the feeling the writer is at a loss as to where to go. The main character spends his time wandering around the village thinking he's being followed, this goes on for over 80 pages with nothing happening.
While I admired his WF, this was not his forte, I am not sure if he wrote this thinking his rep for WF would save his rep as a writer, or if he wrote the story not caring what happened as he died shortly after finishing the story.
It is not known that my earliest stories were western fiction.