I have reached a time in life when I wonder if I truly want to keep on, or just softly mark time until the end comes and I lose that chess game with the Grim Reaper. I don’t have anything left to prove. Most of what I have left to give to society is in my twenty-some books somewhere. And it is not my fault that nobody has, with a few important exceptions, chosen to read my work. Reading is less of a thing in the internet age of Marvel movies and podcasts. So, I am already fading away to nothing while still technically being alive.
I find myself drawing more than writing as digital art tools and AI picture editors let me combine drawings and photos and designs that my hands can no longer make without help and colors blended now that my increasingly colorblind eyes cannot see correctly without help. I have spent a decade fighting to draw what I wanted in the way that I wanted, and now it is all simple with digital help.
And I do have more stories to tell, if I have time. But all the most important ones like Sing Sad Songs, The Baby Werewolf, Snow Babies, Catch a Falling Star, and The Bicycle-Wheel Genius that I have labored over since the 1970s are now complete and published. I have added some other really good ones like Recipes for Gingerbread Children and Magical Miss Morgan along the way. So, my most important work is done.
Am I ready to die, then? Oh, Hell NO!
Catch a Falling Star 