You wouldn’t believe the number of elderly women writing me, saying they just bought my book and would love to have it signed. Would I be interested in coming to their town (sometimes 150 km away), having a romantic lunch, and returning to their “quaint” house. One woman wrote me from Louisiana, saying, “Let’s put distance off the table for a minute. If love is in the mix here, we should be able to make this work.” Then the capper: “I know I’ve said I’m fifty-eight. I’m really seventy-two.” And here I thought imagination and fantasy is dead. It’s alive and well on the Internet. Is it possible to set these girls up with that lonely guy “across the pond”?

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I did a poor imitation of Don Draper for 40 years before writing my first novel. I'm currently in the final stages of a children's book. Lucky me.

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