a recovering auctioneer
On the morning of my 40th birthday I went to the bedside of a dying friend. He asked if I was still writing. “No, not really,” I answered. He shook his head and changed the subject. We reminisced until he was too tired to talk. I said goodbye. He departed soon after but his disappointment persists. I figure I’ll have plenty of regrets on my deathbed. Not writing shouldn’t be one of them. But write about what? It’s simple but I’ve been avoiding it. I was an auctioneer for 20 years. It’s time to write about that. It’s time to hold nothing back.