I started in the womb. Seriously! The doc found some very interesting scribbling on the wall when he did Mom's hysterectomy.

I find the whole idea of waiting around for some agent or publisher to be a repugnant one. With a previous work I pitched it to 40 or 50 agents -- I lost count -- and eventually figured it out. With or without an agent or publisher, I still need a platform, I'm told. This means I'm still promoting my work. With that in mind, just exactly what does an agent or publishing house do?

It's too early to tell right now, but off my metrics I'm getting a few eyeballs. That's good enough for me right now.

Hard to tell. Those long writing sessions that border on violence. Developing an idea out of nothing. Creating characters. Having conversations with these characters. Being able to engage in this type of behavior and have it considered normal.

But then, there's nothing like completing something. Even if your only readers are family members who want free copies, completing a big project beats everything.

My fans push me. They keep me going. They encourage me. I draw from their energy.

Something that grew from a news article I read, and filtered through my dark scary brain. Very cool concept and characters that grow on you.

I like Stephen King, David Baldacci and John Grisham. Steven Pressfield for the obligatory boot in the tail section. Also some of the older novelists: Sinclair Lewis, John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway. Also the apostle Paul, some guy named Luke and a king named David.

My bladder. Also the thought that, hey, there's plenty to do. Got characters in my head bugging me. Got ideas I jotted down in the night and I need to take care of them while I can still read the notes.

But mostly, my bladder. You watch. You reach a certain age, it'll happen to you.

I'm into hiking. Made a trip to part of the Appalachian Trail and I'll certainly be back. I like to pound out a few miles every day with my dog. I enjoy music, both listening to it and playing it -- I was a pro musician for many years. I also enjoy reading, like any true writer does, and reprogramming my computer when I feel manic enough to do so.

I discover them through a number of sources. Mostly it's a want list I built up over the years. Someone will recommend a book and I'll grab it. I've found some through Story Cartel.

Actually, no. It must have been a whopper, whatever it was.

Three drafts. Bang the first one out on a 1940s model Royal typewriter. You can't slap a computer. Leave room on the page for markup. But the first draft goes down violently, and I have no idea what I wrote.

Let it sit for 40 days and 40 nights. Then a read-through to see if it sucks sufficiently enough to rewrite. Carefully redo the whole thing, taking my time. This is done using Scrivener. Third draft is more line-editing and fine-tuning, done on Libre Office.

I usually write in the evenings, and often go until I'm exhausted or my meds kick in. But I write every day except Sunday, with a weekly target of 10,000 words.

No. It might have been Green Eggs and Ham, though. It made me afraid to look inside the refrigerator for years.

I usually take my own photos and use GIMP to do my editing. Fortunately, my years in newspaper work gave me a bit of an eye for design.

Something lightweight, like Silence Of The Lambs. Or a good novel loaded with mystery, intrigue and politicians behaving badly.

Kindle Fire. I sideloaded the Nook app, and this has Overdrive and 3M Cloud Reader for library books. Plus FBReader and something for .pdf's, so I'm missing nothing.

Give it to someone who knows what he's doing.

It's a standard desk with a platform placed on it. This raises my keyboard to waist level, and the monitor sits on another platform at eye level. I like to work standing up. I also have my reference materials there, about five half-full coffee cups and many food wrappers. It gets even worse when I don't deep-clean the area.

Out in the California desert. It makes a good setting for some of my work.

It started out a couple of decades ago as something else, but I never did anything with it. I liked the characters, though. So I brought them out of retirement and had them do something else.

But you know what? Like Charlie Brown and Snoopy, they didn't age a day during all that time.

The Camel Club, by David Baldacci. Turning Pro, by Steven Pressfield. The Stand, by Stephen King. The Bible, written by about 40 guys. The fifth one varies, so I'm leaving that one open.

I'm really thinking about hitting the lecture circuit. Hosting a few mastermind groups for people who have all this creativity but forgot about it. Kicking a few people in the butt and encouraging them to just start doing something. Really, B.I.C. Cartel was a springboard for these future pursuits. There's also the Appalachian Trail; it needs me to through-hike it.