I have reached the ripe old age of fifty. So what? Am I a person of interest? No. Am I well known, famous or infamous? No. Is this an egotistic, self indulgent, narcissistic activity? Well that is a matter of opinion. I’d say yes and no. The thing is, if I wasn’t doing this, I would be not doing this, and that makes about as much sense to me as doing this. Why write anything? An article, story, book or poem? Why write a song? Why paint a picture, or act? Why do anything? It’s not so much self indulgence as self expression. That’s what I think, and it’s really not that important to me what you think, because I am principally doing this for me. If I were too worried about what you think, I probably would not be doing this, or anything for that matter, or I’d be keeping it a secret at least.
I have always wanted to write a book. They say write about what you know, so that is what I am doing, sort of. I have these songs; words, lyrics, poetry (whatever), that I have written mostly in the last quarter of my adult life at the time of writing, but I want to do more than simply collect them together and call them a book. My songs come from somewhere that is not always easy to explain or rationalise.