The White Stone

Writing a book is a strange affair, you bang out this word document on your laptop, it is edited, proded, shaped, marketed and then two years later is born onto bookshelves in bookstores around the world that you as an author will never visit, to be read by people you will never meet.

But then you every now and then hear or read something that reminds you of the reason why you write. That happened to me when I read this. (Those of you who attended one of the book launches or who have read the book will understand the symbolism of the white stone.)

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