Let me just say a few things that might help you cope with the problem you seem to have with me.
Much of life is just serendipitous happenstance. Other than having distinguished parents, my early life was pretty conventional. Even the years I spent in the Army were no more remarkable than thousands of other junior officers ( I was a Lieutenant eventually promoted to Captain, which is still quite a lowly rank ). I went to Uni, did my Army service, and was offered a decent professional job that paid reasonably well. So far, pretty much like everybody else. I lived in a ordinary four bedrooms house in a quiet and unremarkable country village. Marriage followed. My only expensive interests were Cuban cigars, single malt and old English sports cars, of which I had five. I wrote the village newspaper, the Neighbourhood Watch bulletin, and I made a few contributions to local magazines.
One day an old friend asked me if I would write something about a group of people who wanted their memories written up. I agreed, thinking it would take up the odd few hours of my spare time. They were unable to find anyone else to do it for them. One of these people happened to be a millionaire and his wife had many photos of the group.
Eventually, I met her to discuss including a few pics in the article ( which was rapidly becoming a book. When published it had over 600 pages ). Whilst I was with her in her house in Connecticut I happened to tell her that I couldn't find a publisher for the book. I chose the pics. and drove back to New York. When I got to my hotel I found a fax waiting for me. It was from Hillary Clinton. She asked me to drive back to Conn. the following day.
She was taken with the book, wanted to help me and suggested a publisher to ring mentioning her name. It all fell into place after that. A simple request to do a bit of writing, and a chance meeting. C'est la Vie !
Much of life is just serendipitous happenstance. Other than having distinguished parents, my early life was pretty conventional. Even the years I spent in the Army were no more remarkable than thousands of other junior officers ( I was a Lieutenant eventually promoted to Captain, which is still quite a lowly rank ). I went to Uni, did my Army service, and was offered a decent professional job that paid reasonably well. So far, pretty much like everybody else. I lived in a ordinary four bedrooms house in a quiet and unremarkable country village. Marriage followed. My only expensive interests were Cuban cigars, single malt and old English sports cars, of which I had five. I wrote the village newspaper, the Neighbourhood Watch bulletin, and I made a few contributions to local magazines.
One day an old friend asked me if I would write something about a group of people who wanted their memories written up. I agreed, thinking it would take up the odd few hours of my spare time. They were unable to find anyone else to do it for them. One of these people happened to be a millionaire and his wife had many photos of the group.
Eventually, I met her to discuss including a few pics in the article ( which was rapidly becoming a book. When published it had over 600 pages ). Whilst I was with her in her house in Connecticut I happened to tell her that I couldn't find a publisher for the book. I chose the pics. and drove back to New York. When I got to my hotel I found a fax waiting for me. It was from Hillary Clinton. She asked me to drive back to Conn. the following day.
She was taken with the book, wanted to help me and suggested a publisher to ring mentioning her name. It all fell into place after that. A simple request to do a bit of writing, and a chance meeting. C'est la Vie !
