Why I write

A few years ago I wrote a short story for the Scotsman newspaper competition called "PMOY 1969". It didn't even make the shortlist of stories they published in book form. The story feature a real-life nude model who appeared in Playboy in the 60s called Connie Kreski. She died a few years ago. For some reason I had remembered her name. Later on the story was published in an American online magazine. In the years since I have had regular e-mails thanking me for the story, on average two or three a month. In addition, I have been contacted by some of Connie's relatives, an ex-husband, people who knew her and, most impressively of all, a regular army of ex-G.I. vets who had seen her in the magazine during their Vietnam days.

Connie was a blonde, non-pneumatic lady who absolutely radiated innocence of the kind that is so beguiling to dreamy young men. Now in their middle age many of these same men wished to reconnect with their lost youth by tunneling back in time in a way that was impossible before the internet came along. I've helped some of them make the connection. Dragged their past into the present. Told them her story. And mine. And theirs too in a way. So I've made some connections with people out there I never knew. And the odd thing is, none of them were weirdos.

So I want to publish the book to make a few more connections. Not to make friendships you understand. I just want to cast a faint shadow over a few souls and move on. The merest echo in the ether. A faint whisper that says you are not alone.