Dick and his lover, Jonathan, finally manage to take a holiday, and it is, to some extent, a sentimental journey for Dick - it is to New York City, the site of former adventures, and where his former lover is now settled in with a new lover, Max, who happens to be involved in a theatre company. So Dick and Jonathan fly in for opening night, but also arrive soon after one of the original cast is murdered - gunned down with a shot in the back, and ending up face down in a car park. It seems Dick can't even have a holiday without playing his usual role of sleuth, and there is also a different kind of role playing as well...
I've always resented reality. It is far too capricious and too often unkind and unfair. I avoid reflective surfaces whenever possible. Being a writer allows me to create my own reality, and worlds over which I have some degree of control.
I'm an incurable romantic. I believe strongly in things which reality views too often with contempt, such as happy endings, true love, and the baic goodness of people.
The one personal characteristic in which I take great pride, and which has been my rock throughout life is that I never, ever, take myself too seriously. If one has a choice between positive and negative, why would anyone (though too many people do) opt for the negative? Life is not always kind, but it is a gift beyond measure, and one which must all too soon be given back. I really try to enjoy and be thankful for ever single day allotted to me.
For most people, children are their posterity. For me, as a gay man, it is my words which will, I hope, stand as evidence that I was here (albeit, no matter how long I may live, never long enough to suit me).
And because written words are nothing unless someone reads them, I am heavily reliant on my readers. I sincerely look on every reader as a partner and traveling companion on every journey my writing embarks on.
I invite you, individually and personally, to join me.
