I was fifty-three years old when I wrote this book. I was still working as a teacher. It was a great life. I loved teaching. The kids were alive. But it was hard. On top of the actual classes there was all the preparation, marking and bureaucracy.
I scrounged my writing in stolen evenings, weekends and late into the night – writing until three and getting up at seven-thirty. I was always tired.
On top of that I had a wife and family.
The writing was an escape, an outlet. I had no pretensions to get it published. I just loved it. I work in my shortened night jotting down ideas. I scribbled in lessons, in breaks and lunch-time. It dominated my thoughts.
I was feeling that life was passing me by and I had not done any of the things I had set out to do as a crazy youth. I’d somehow got waylaid by life. I had a wife, four kids and a teaching career. I was a Head of Department and in Senior Management as a Senior Teacher. I was the ideas man. They thought me wild and crazy. I thought myself tamed and contained.
I wanted the book to be a long stream of consciousness a loa Jack Kerouac. A treatise on life. I was aiming for a Henry Miller type of expose of my inner being.
You’ll have to judge for yourself how much I succeeded:
53 and imploding eBook : goodwin, opher: Amazon.co.uk: Books