A note from me
On Boxing Day 2022, in Rome, after taking a comfortable walk to the Piazza del Popolo, followed by a stroll through the Villa Borghese, and then back to the apartment, I had a fall.
I woke up a few minutes later in a pool of blood, my neck in a grotesquely twisted position, my wife on her knees beside me. I believed I was dying. I believed I had three breaths left.
Now, without the use of my hands, or any other limbs, which is a considerable inconvenience, I write a daily dispatch from my hospital bed, which I dictate to my family who then send it out to you.
My rambling dispatches from my hospital bed will arrive directly to your inbox, daily, if I’m up to it.
I will be writing about writing as well as my new immobilised predicament. I will be writing about sex and drugs and music, TV shows and writers I admire, and my memories, among other important matters.
More importantly, I want to hear from you, for I read all of your comments and I am moved by them.
Subscribe to get full access to published and unpublished stories, essays and screenplays from my back catalogue.
Your loving no-hands man,
Dear Readers, my dispatches will always be free and open to everyone. I am unable to use my hands and I’m writing, via dictation, with the help of my family. If you could become a paid subscriber and support me, it’d mean so much.