This is a cool photo Franck took of the cobblestones leading up to the Colosseum in Rome.
As I’ve mentioned before. I have zero chill about old stuff. I paw it and marvel over those Romans who built this thousands of years ago.
I know when I started writing my books the day after being diagnosed with PSC, part of my motivation was to leave something behind for my daughters, just like those Romans left behind these cobblestones for all of us.
I know books are only as immortal as the people left on this earth to read them (side note: global warming is real and we all need to take steps to prevent it from getting worse). Books feel timeless to me though. When I pick up a book written by a deceased writer I instantly feel like they are communicating with me in a way that transcends life and death.
Many of my readers tell me they consider me as a friend after reading my books, even though they’ve never met me. I truly feel that they are. We have established a friendship via the 26 letters of the alphabet weaved into a story. I don’t know about you, but I see that as some mighty magic I want in my life.