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Apr. 3rd, 2012
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I have to say this.
A long time back, many years, Dad once used to berate me regularly for writing stuff for roleplaying games and fantasy stories. He used to describe my affection for Star Trek and fantasies with a derisory "Beam me up Scotty" and my penchant for roleplaying games as "Go and play with your fookin Ludo." Apparently there is a Fookin Ludo board game out there, as well as the regular Ludo.
J K Rowling came along, and made an absolute fortune. A few years later, I got that gig with White Wolf - and later, Mongoose. And right now, I have these settings all prepped but I'm spicing things up with open content articles for Mongoose Legend to whet people's appetites. And I don't feel like writing setting material for them either, so much as just skipping the games and writing stories. Original fiction.
Anyhow, Rowling. After hearing of Rowling's success, and before that Terry Pratchett's success, Mum had words with Dad one night while I was living in the flat, so I've been told.
Dad doesn't berate me for my habits, predilections or hobbies any more. In fact, once in a while Mum reminds him of how, if I had been given his support and help to write back in the Eighties, rather than deprived that support, I'd likely be where Rowling is now, in terms of her real wealth. Instead of where I am now, still plugging away, still scribbling, still looking for publication of my main novel.
All those years Dad spent chasing after money, one madcap Del Boy scheme after the other, and Dad was Hell bent on ignoring me - and it turns out that I might be the only one of the whole family that has a chance of having what Dad once called "a proper career, like the one Sean has."
The one career I have always focused on; the one career I have pursued without fail since the Eighties and, truth to tell, even earlier. writing.
I am a writer. If I lose my sight I will adapt to a braille keyboard or dictate, and I will keep on writing. I will write until I can write no more; which will be just after I can breathe no more.
A long time back, many years, Dad once used to berate me regularly for writing stuff for roleplaying games and fantasy stories. He used to describe my affection for Star Trek and fantasies with a derisory "Beam me up Scotty" and my penchant for roleplaying games as "Go and play with your fookin Ludo." Apparently there is a Fookin Ludo board game out there, as well as the regular Ludo.
J K Rowling came along, and made an absolute fortune. A few years later, I got that gig with White Wolf - and later, Mongoose. And right now, I have these settings all prepped but I'm spicing things up with open content articles for Mongoose Legend to whet people's appetites. And I don't feel like writing setting material for them either, so much as just skipping the games and writing stories. Original fiction.
Anyhow, Rowling. After hearing of Rowling's success, and before that Terry Pratchett's success, Mum had words with Dad one night while I was living in the flat, so I've been told.
Dad doesn't berate me for my habits, predilections or hobbies any more. In fact, once in a while Mum reminds him of how, if I had been given his support and help to write back in the Eighties, rather than deprived that support, I'd likely be where Rowling is now, in terms of her real wealth. Instead of where I am now, still plugging away, still scribbling, still looking for publication of my main novel.
All those years Dad spent chasing after money, one madcap Del Boy scheme after the other, and Dad was Hell bent on ignoring me - and it turns out that I might be the only one of the whole family that has a chance of having what Dad once called "a proper career, like the one Sean has."
The one career I have always focused on; the one career I have pursued without fail since the Eighties and, truth to tell, even earlier. writing.
I am a writer. If I lose my sight I will adapt to a braille keyboard or dictate, and I will keep on writing. I will write until I can write no more; which will be just after I can breathe no more.
