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Why use this contact form?
Now, you may wonder, why should you use the contact form? Perhaps you want to tell me about a great book that you have written, and are looking for ways to cross-promote, or learn more about how to publish books. You may have a specific question about my novels or my paintings. You may need a present urgently for a loved one. Perhaps you have a question about one of the places that I traveled to. Or it could be late at night and you are drunk & lonely playing tedious computer games, and now you are looking for some alternate excitement and action. Perhaps your pet parrot has died, and you need tips on how to cremate its remains. Or you murdered your spouse, and the police is moving in on your house, the whole damn place is surrounded and you are getting a bit worried as they are getting ready to storm your home. Or you are in doubt whether you should continue your job as a pet shop janitor versus having a tattoo on your forehead and moving to Nepal and become a Buddhist monk. And you need advice. Or a shoulder to cry on.
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Here is a sample from my novel Two Journeys.
Several small containers stood in an orderly row in front of him, all empty. The labels described a variety of chemicals. I recognized the names of several neurotoxins and anesthetics. A tall glass contained a few drops of clear liquid at the bottom. Had he mixed himself a deadly cocktail? Had ended his own life?
It looked as if the poor fellow had committed suicide only hours before my arrival, in the process canceling my chance to meet a living fellow human being.
I went through his notes, multiple pages of cramped and hard-to-read handwriting. Most of it was in English. They seemed to contain a report of his last weeks and final days. I left the lab and checked the other rooms in the tract, shouting and banging on the doors. I extended my search to the other floors and buildings. I didn’t find any humans, dead or alive. I concluded that if he had any companions they had most likely died before him, leaving him behind as the second loneliest person in the world. After that, he had made an orderly and clean ending to his misery. Back in the lab, I found him sitting in the same position. I took his notes and two Geiger counters and left the building. I couldn’t stay here. I needed to find a place where I wasn’t surrounded by death.
The truck shined brightly in the setting sun. We boarded and drove off. That evening we made our camp north of Seoul, close to the border with North Korea. We stopped at a parking lot next to the highway on the top of a hill. It was cloudy, and the night was dark. The dogs had their dinner underneath the truck. I huddled in my sweater and looked at the gloomy landscape from the cab. Seoul was still visible, and I imagined that I could see the flames flickering in its city center. After the dogs had finished eating, we all climbed aboard. It was a cold night, and the dogs didn’t mind when I threw a blanket over them. I switched on the heating. King licked my hand and tried to look more innocent than he really was. By the light of the small overhead lamp, I tried to decipher the words that the Korean had written.