WRITER
When I was 19, I announced to my mother that I was a writer. Whatever gave me that idea? Oh yes, I was living in a tiny, bleak room in Paris and feeling quite bohemian at the moment.
I arrived in Vancouver in my early twenties, and soon I was writing a novel. “I am Vendraga. I say I am Vendraga, keeper of the clues.” That’s how the novel began. We’ll never know how it ended.
In 2001, I went on a 300 km bike ride in the Kootenay Mountains. I got back to town and immediately called Western Living Magazine.
“How would you like a story called, “Why are all the Great Chefs Hiding in the Forest?””
They bought it and paid me a small fortune, and suddenly, just like that, at the age of almost 60, I was a writer.
Of course, I had been writing for radio and television for years and by the carload on a daily basis, and I had written two plays, one of which was actually produced in a theatre. But there is something highly confirming about a paycheque.
I’ve since written another novel, which may find its way into the world as a book of short stories and last fall, I wrote a book called “Saving Dope Fiends, a personal primer on drug rehab,” which I’ve begun to shop around.
The many articles, stories and opinion pieces that I’ve written for newspapers, magazines and websites in recent years are all here.
