Here I am at the edge

I didn't want my disabilities to define me. I don't often write about my disabilities and the problems they cause. Not because I am ashamed to admit I am disabled, I just think nobody would be interested in reading about my declining health. However, several people have asked me to write about my condition, so here is the opening of my story. I may put this into a book later on. My story starts in my days at school when my friends told me that I was an excellent storyteller. At that time, I didn't realise my genetic heritage, who considers their genetics? Most people have no idea what lies hidden with their genes, why would they? Long ago, I realised something was wrong because when I cut myself I scar badly and my skin doesn't heal as it should, nobody told me what was wrong if they knew. I think my mother had some idea what lay ahead for me, her eldest sister, Joan, has the same condition I have. Whether it was a choice not to tell me, or my mother ...

My disability. 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.

The Reading area As my e-books   aren't selling, and I have about 20 years to live, if my genealogy runs true. I thought I'd reopen the page   The Reading Area   with some stories for  FREE . Even when the e-books were selling, they never brought much money in, other than  Forgestriker .