It's been one heck of a thirteen months!
Circumstances and events really did point towards the fact that I was going to die--if not of illness, then by other means. Measures were set in place to deal with which ever one claimed me. The loonies and their threats to kill me, or the pains. Numerous tests found the source of the latter and I'm not dead of it yet.
Then it came to the loft. Over twenty scripts which had been lying there for years--unpublished projects that I had worked on between the published ones. Material which would almost certainly end up in a skip if or when I died.
Some were/have been taken on by publishers and will come out as and when. Those working for me have done so around the clock. The loonies have helped enormously, by causing me so much grief and by complaining and keeping my name in lights. I'm very grateful, for while they fail, I succeed.
Others I published myself--virtually no one publishes plays any more.
Seven I have published under other names, and it amazes me that these have such sterling reviews on Amazon and the like. Had I published them under my own name, they would have been hammered by the same group of people who hammer the others. Some won't believe me. That's their problem. No one is ever going to discover my aliases, though doubtless they will try.
All have sold well--not bad for a so-called "failed" writer. And of course, that these people bother to write about me at all, if this is what I am, shows a distinct lack of taste and grey cells on their part. I would never waste a moment putting pen to paper about someone not worthy of the air they breathe. What would be the point of giving them the attention? These people are nobody to me, and not much more to anyone else.
Now, there are just four more to go...