Ralph’s Place was there before I ever considered writing novels. It began as a bedtime story to my first son, 4-year-old Alex, whom we lost to cancer at six-years-old. Brother Daniel’s later arrival brought new Ralph Bedtime Stories that began when he was 4-years-old.

On business days, I caught the Westport, CT commuter bus to Metro North RR, then I walked to the nearby Daily News building and the offices of Changing Times, where I sold advertising space in the Kiplinger Washington Editors excellent, monthly personal finance publication. Round-trip, to New York City, and back home to Westport was one hour and thirty minutes, during which I composed Daniel’s bedtime story.

The evening Train-bus commute was always an adrenalin rush: Daniel went to bed at 8:30 p.m. and I had to hustle each evening to arrive before bedtime. The train trip lasts one hour, with half-an-hour to relax before planning the evening’s Ralph Story. The new
Ralph stories began with resuscitated previous Ralph Stories. Truthfully, everything I always needed was there when I sat on my son’s bed.

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The purpose of this blogpost is to help new writers with the exciting albeit frustrating creative process, plus some helpful suggestions on overcoming writer’s block.

Publishing your first novel has never been easier thanks to CreateSpace, an Amazon company,as well as others that help writers independently publish books in physical or digital formats at affordable prices.  Beware of some snarly publishers that will publish for free or for very little.  They make their money on the back end with books you will have to buy at prohibitive prices. Result: you’re dead in the water.  For example: You cannot promote your novel in book fairs if you can’t afford soft cover copies of your book.

You are sadly mistaken if you are writing with the idea of becoming rich and famous. Definitely, not a good idea.  You may spend more money than you might ever earn.  Be careful, be frugal.  Think before leaping.

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Hold happiness tightly enjoy it brightly

Javea was a little known paradise in the province of Alicante, Spain, when Bobbi and I stored our Madrid furniture and personal effects in January of 1980, and drove to the Costa Blanca in our new Citroen Méhari (orange plastic, French 2 cv).  Javea is where the warm Mediterranean breeze circulates with the fragrance of orange blossoms and creates the feeling of knowing and feeling you are where you are supposed to be.

Bobbi and I would part and go separate ways years later, however 1980 was the year of hopes, illusions and expectations.  We had rented a chalet just outside Javea, where we would live until we found a 100-year-old farmhouse to modernize and decorate.  We had a brief hiatus in our plans when Becton Dixon selected Bobbi to decorate their new Madrid headquarters, which meant she would commute between Javea and Madrid.

I became our five-year-old son Alex’s playmate, co-conspirator in imagination, cohort in gathering wild flowers for Mom’s return and our chief food preparer.  In the early morning, bilingual Alex left in the bus for the all-Spanish Paidos School in Denia. He returned mid afternoon which allowed time for me to write, to shop for food, and to go once in a while for a fast bicycle ride.

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The last blog post was dated July 4, 2014, and the ensuing hiatus in blog posts resulted from summer 2014, when I crashed my racing bici at 28-mph and suffered fractured clavicle, eight fractured ribs, a hairline pelvic fracture and a partially deflated R-lung.

The accident occurred while ridding my vintage Cannondale that should have been replaced.  I had just shaved five minutes off my best time ever and headed downhill toward home when the derailleur slipped.  I could have dismounted and repaired the problem.  However in distress and annoyance, I slammed the derailleur with the palm of my hand.  This catapulted the bicycle chain into the rear tire hub and froze the rear tire at twenty-eight miles-an-hour.

It’s incredible how disaster occurs in slow motion.  Attempts to break forward speed on the front tire destroyed steering control.  There was no doubt I would go down.

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John Wayne Pioneer Trail. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In 1908, my maternal great grandfather, William Frank Dunn, was President, Publisher and co-owner of the Chicago Journal, which later became the Chicago Daily News.  The newspaper consumed reams of newsprint that was purchased at exorbitant prices from Chicago jobbers. 

So Frank Dunn took the train to northern Wisconsin and negotiated directly with the lumber mill in Park Falls where wood pulp became paper that he bought at a more reasonable price.

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