This is my first completed fictional work, so regrettably I have little to offer in the form of a literary past, except to add that as a 'Creative Soul' I have worked as in interior designer for over 40 years & have always utilised my spare time creatively, re-imagining 'found objects' into artworks, some of which I have sold but most still inhabit my studio!
I think (maybe hope!) that I have some talent for writing & have written (& mostly abandoned!) pieces that I felt would be better left in the drawer. However, recently a series of personal experiences have inspired me to collate them into a narrative that I believe asks a very potent, current question? Assisted death. I am submitting this in a fact based, but fictional format that confronts this issue with compassion, but is also lightened with a little humour.
