An alternate life

I've written fiction most of my adult life, though only a few have read what I've written. During my working years, the output was low. When I retired, I reconnected with a high school friend, George Wentworth, who I always considered to be a brilliant writer (reader, he's asked me not to overuse "brilliant," but he is),

even from his high school days. He asked if I would be a beta reader for a fictional memoir he was writing. I agreed. I was pleased to find a fictional version of myself in his pages. It sparked a writing ritual of my own that has produced six novel-length manuscripts, so far (more on that in a future post). Two days ago he sent the final, devastating chapter. It's been on my mind ever since. I think there's a place in the world for an amazing book about a group of boomers from a post-industrial Northeastern town and all the cultural and historical upheaval they live through. I wish him the best in bringing this book to a larger audience. For me, the experience has been surreal, seeing a fictional, alternative version of my own life appear on his pages. What might have been. The manuscript hinges on the music we carried in our heads and hearts through those years. A Bridge Over Troubled Waters, so to speak.