I’ve been too ill this entire year to write much or to participate in online activism, which is as much me as writing is. I’ll be 60 in January, and I want to curl up by the fire and live out the rest of my years in peace and quiet. The fact that I’m so peaceful about the notion tells me it’s probably okay.
A friend asked if I’ve written enough. I don’t know. But I think The Honesty of Tigers is the best book I’ve written, and that it’s unlikely I’ll write anything better. I’ve reached the summit of my ambition and will retire in the knowledge that I’ve done what I set out to do.
More significantly, under the near impossible weight of my chronic health condition, I don’t feel adequate to write anything that will matter in the context of the world events we’re facing this year and in the future.
I have four more titles to release in 2017, including the indie re-release of my novels A Flight of Thieves and Gifted, but I don’t imagine I will write anything new.