One day soon, surely, I’ll be able to ramp down my hectic schedule of presentations and readings to promote Last of the Annamese. I hit an all-time high last month with twelve presentations in one month, including five in one week.
I admit to enjoying the presentations. I very much want people to know what happened during the fall of Saigon—the raw courage of my two communicators, Bob and Gary; Ambassador Martin’s wilful disregard of my warnings that Saigon was about to be attacked and the subsequent loss of life; the close calls I had when I escaped under fire as the city fell.
But I have other stories I want to tell. I’m currently hawking my novel Secretocracy based on my time on the National Intelligence Staff and my discovery of an illegal project undertaken by the administration then in power. This time I hope to find a literary agent to help me sell the book in hopes that I can land a deal with a major publisher who will take on the lion’s share of the promotion.
Beyond that, I’m currently working on two novels. One is about a couple in their eighties who are having an affair. The other is about a navy corpsman who suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress Injury.
As is so typical of me, it feels like these two projects are going to meld into a single book. I won’t know until I have time to write. That means uninterrupted stretches of time, four or five hours long, when I can go into a semi-meditative state and let the words tumble out onto the screen.
What works best for me is to alternate writing with weight lifting, piano playing, and chores around the house, so that my subconscious is untethered and flies free. That means free time. Right now I have none.