The moving target of ‘success’

When I was 28, I wrote my first novel.  It was garbage, littered with clichés, adverbs and flowery similes. I printed one copy, then put it away – in the round filing cabinet that lives under my desk. Roll forward twenty four years and…
,

Brodie’s Progress

  I was recently emailed by a lady asking if I still had my terrier cross, Brodie.  She’d read my rather bleak post in February, shortly after I’d rescued him from the amazing Foal Farm in Kent, and after tuning in to my website…