Having
just spent two weeks vacationing with children and grandchildren, I’ve had the
pleasure of seeing first-hand to what extent my daughter and my elder grandchildren
have inherited my writing compulsion. My daughter is an accomplished
journalist, my grandchildren are avid readers who love to write stories. My
son, an architect, also writes beautifully. My own love affair with words
started when I was just a kid, keeping a diary, writing a “novel” with my
friends. From college, I sent hand-written letters to my parents. The letters
continued—first typed, then word-processed—once I was married and had children
of my own. I entered the world of academe, where writing and publishing were
required for promotion. In retirement, I write stories and non-fiction
narratives. But it was only when I discovered my parents’ war letters that I
realized that my writing compulsion was part of my DNA. In my parents’ letters,
nothing was too trivial to describe. It’s thanks to their detailed descriptions
that I was able to write a book chronicling my dad’s experiences in World War
II. To my utter delight, Behind the Lines continues to attract readers, and
feedback (in the form of reviews on Amazon, Austin Macauley’s website, and on
social media) continues to be uniformly positive.