My wife and I live in the Hibiscus Coast Retirement Village in Red Beach, Auckland, surrounded by everything we could possibly want, and some of the nicest and most interesting people I’ve ever met. For years, I’ve heard people say things like “everybody has a story to tell” or “everyone has a book in them,” but not once did I think it applied to me. Until, thanks to my dear wife, I happened upon a Writers Workshop run in the Village by a real live author. It was an eye-opener. I had always enjoyed writing short articles, and the odd poem (some, very odd) for newsletters at work, but this was about real books. Could I? Would I?
I had written a one-page prologue for fun, during a discussion with a dear friend, and then forgotten about it. Five years on, inspired, I dug it out and determined to make something of it, whether it be a short story or just something to discuss at the next workshop meeting. I fired up my trusty laptop, and to my surprise and amazement, a hundred words turned into a thousand, the characters grew in scope and personality, and the plot, for want of a better expression, thickened. Before I knew it, I had a manuscript. Then, with the support and encouragement of my friends in the writers’ group, I had a book. A real book, with a beautifully designed cover, thousands of words, and umpteen chapters to add to my fun prologue.
To actually hold my, yes, my, book in my hands for the first time was something I shall never forget. And for it to happen so late in my life (my body is 79, but like most older people, I think I’m 29), was a revelation. I did have a story. I did have a book in me. And now I am well into writing a second. All because I had the right help and encouragement at the right time. Yes, some of it was ego-driven, but the sense of achievement was, and still is, breath-taking. It was as though George Simpson and Josie, the main characters, had really come to life, with the rest of them, the good, the bad and the humorous.
I’m not saying the writing came easily. There were moments when some things didn’t make complete sense, and an urgent revision was required, but generally, the story and the characters flowed. Sometimes at the most inopportune moments, much to my wife’s puzzlement. When an idea hits you, you just have to go with it, wherever you are, or whatever the time of day or night.
Vice, Virtue and Villainy is a cosy mystery with a degree of edginess. The heroes are believable and easy to relate to. The villains are quirky, with just the right degree of nastiness. Well, for murderers and gangsters, that is. Once I had formed the characters, I found them really easy to work with. I could identify with some of them and get infuriated with some of the others. It became personal. I guess if you’re going to build a story around them, they have to become real, to some degree.
Anyway, they are a considerable part of my life now. I often ask myself, “What would George do?” Or “Would Josie be happy about that?”
One thing I didn’t take into consideration in my book-writing innocence was the importance of research. It didn’t hit me until one day I was doing some fact-checking on something, and I realised what I had written could have got me into all sorts of legal strife. Since then I have read up on police procedure, forensics, human anatomy and all manner of fascinating factual stuff which turned my ignorant writing into something much more informed. In fact, at one stage, I asked Mr Google so many things about murder and drug manufacturing, I kept expecting the police to turn up with a paddy wagon, and rap loudly on my door.
These are the joys of becoming an author at such a late stage in one’s life. It’s been a wonderfully satisfying experience I wish I had enjoyed many years ago. But maybe now, with so much more life experience under my belt, was the right time. And now I’m well into my second book, I feel qualified to say to anybody who has thought about writing a book, whether it be fiction, or a memoir, do it! Do it now!
