I was middle aged and homeless, soon to be penniless, and really and truly no different from that bag lady sitting on the bench over there. I couldn’t jack it in and go home, because I didn’t have a home to go to anymore. The bicycle and the tent were now home. Wherever I found myself on any given night was now home. And that meant, for tonight, Genoa Piazza Principe Railway Station was home.
I was cycling across Europe in search of Utopia, a place I believed was located somewhere in Greece. When I found it, I would start a new life there. It was my big, fat, Greek midlife crisis. But now I was having a crisis within a crisis. What on earth had I been thinking?
FREE FROM MAY 24 TO MAY 27, 2017
I am a writer without roots. I’ve lived on three continents and in six countries. And in my working past, I’ve been a journalist, a bureaucrat, a university tutor, a bookseller, and a proof-reader. This unsettled and chaotic life has its drawbacks. The only place I can honestly call home is the seat in front of my computer. But it also has its advantages: giving me a rich seam of experiences to mine–an invaluable resource for any writer.
I”ve been described as a multi-genre ‘writerly heptathlete,’ which is probably the only kind of athlete I will ever be. I enjoy exploring different genres, and have dabbled in four thus far, producing three crime novels, two self-deprecating travelogues, a trio of children’s books, and a somewhat suspenseful romance.