My mother observed that I was always reading books, never playing sports. My head was always in the clouds, thinking of heroes from history. That was my starting point - daydreaming.

When I was in New York in 1980, trying to lease a Boeing 707 freighter - that's another story – I had three short meetings in four days. Effectively at a loose end between meetings. Bored, I browsed a Broadway bookshop and discovered Stephen Donaldson's The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, the Unbeliever. On the West Side, in an agreeable hostelry, I read the whole trilogy, and it hooked me. Back in London, I stopped pooh-poohing those friends who were spellbound by Tolkien. I started to read everything Middle-Earth I could lay my hands on.

Stephen Donaldson's ‘arch of time’, however, tested my willingness to suspend disbelief. Tolkien's great eagles, too flimsy to carry men, and if made larger, too heavy to fly, so implausible. Hence, my desire to produce a world built with defined fantasy precepts.

Motivation to write had simmered beneath a professional career until 1993, when our son Nick’s birth was mishandled medically, despite being a precious fourth-attempt IVF foetus. He was in intensive care, Karen was very unwell, and I was at a loose end, worrying. I needed a daily escape, so I cranked up the ancient IBM PC and wrote and wrote. Literary agents, including the famous Ed Victor, however, failed to recognise my genius. As Karen and Nick recovered, and after the rejections, I consigned the draft to a ring binder and buried it in the darkest corner of my work cupboard. I returned to the day job and let the fantasy sleep.

Semi-retired in 2019, Karen and I decided to go skiing in France for three months. She was recovering from a stroke, and we wanted to take life by the horns. As part of that desire to live whilst we could, Karen sneaked the ring binder into the car. I found time to read it, whisky in hand, while she was back in England, celebrating Mothering Sunday with her mother. Well, I discovered that the draft of Sir Edric was not as bad as I remembered.

I was seventy-one then, and any sane publisher would not consider book one of a trilogy written by me as a good proposition. We agreed that I would finish the series, now a tetralogy, before seeking a publisher. Even then, self-publishing proved the best option.

Writing is fun, mentally exciting and much better for me than feeding the tomato plants; deadheading the roses or reliving past glories on the 19th hole. The series is now a complete story. However, it leaves room for many spin-offs and side tales of intrigue. I hope one day someone may want me to adapt it for other media.

I'd be delighted to answer questions and receive feedback.

My principal aim in writing the series has been to entertain, not inform. However, as the series develops, I believe readers may draw parallels between the Despotate of Ozane in now, and totalitarian empires in our own world.  In then, I imagine that the theocracy of the Empire of Sol can be compared to some current regimes in levels of intolerance and lack of regard for human diversity, dignity and rights. 

Sadly, it is not that long ago that we were intolerant of religious and racial nonconformity - many would say that is still the case - so we cannot speak from the moral high ground. 

Yes.  When writing, I like to be left alone in my 'zone'. As my desk is in the loft, two floors away from the home hub, requests for me and comments to me, require too many decibels of shouting to encourage those that are trivial to be pursued.  Up till recently, my 101-year-old father-in-law was living with us, and the doorbell's constant clangour announcing district nurses, carers, doctors, occupational therapists, church visitors, Uncle Tom Cobley, and all, was barely audible up here in the attic, so others often had to answer.

If I had a fridge up here, with a few bottles of beer, the loft would be perfect. 

I have always been a dreamer as my mother always said. Office and family life, however, requires more doing than dreaming which is why I have not resumed writing till now.

I am very lucky in my wife, in more than the usual respects, in that she is a 'doer' par excellence. A paragon of organisation and efficiency, a paladin for to-do-lists, she has relieved me during retirement of much of my share of family organisation and management. A great boon to a dreamer.

So, retirement and discharge from day upon day of demanding, diary-driven duty, have closed that window and opened another that looks out over vast vistas through which the mind can wander and wonder, and to explore wherever it takes me.  

Much better than weeding the garden and feeding the tomato plants. 

Drafting. It's the fun, creative core, the indulgence of the imagination, the recording of dreams. Editing? Well, yes, in a way: it's refining the creation and ensuring it can be communicated to others. Publishing? No, it requires expertise,  and others are far better qualified to handle that.