I never considered writing until late in life; I guess I was just getting on with things and doing too much to even contemplate it.  And so, after a life travelling the world, teaching in a bizarre mix of countries from Libya to Azerbaijan, Cambodia to Kazakhstan, it wasn't so much whether I should try and write (my friends pressed me interminably to write about my life's experiences), it was what to write about that badgered me.
Whilst living in Bangkok I met this guy, Nick Gerorge Nichlols McNichols  (he went by a variety of similar monikers). We got on, shared funny stories and developed a relationship that persuaded me to learn the craft of writing by writing about him. We began this project in 2017; I spent many weeks recording our conversations, delving through his papers, drinking, smoking and laughing whilst listening to his impressive collection of vinyl records dating back to the 1960s.
A biography is a bit of a cop-out I suppose; a cowardly attempt to slide under the radar and use the experiences of another to explore one's own techniques. I also felt comfortable immersing myself in this guy's youth because it was filled with a raw, uncomfortable, bleakness that he brushed off with a stoic disdain. It tells a story of an America that was cruel and a hardship that belies the veneer of the American dream. And yet Nick is a product of that dream as he sits in his Bangkok apartment, enjoying his pension, taking walks, sharing stories with strangers and tourists and holding together a history that I felt was worth sharing.
I hope you enjoy reading it.