The first day of high school, I was placed in the front seat. There staring into my face–a stern Germanic English teacher. “How do you spell before?” “ B-e-f-o-r.” I replied shaking. O.K. So I was almost correct.  I really didn’t care. I was interested in snakes and insects. Well, I’m not proud of my lack of English prowess but I have managed an abstract novel (From An Ensenada Window, Vantage Press, 2008) and a bio-philosophical tritest (The Reason for Reality, iUniverse, 2012).

I think I started writing by actively challenging myself to write as short and concise as possible. And I accomplished two plots, a romance, business, tragedy on three-fourths of a page two paragraphs. For all those tired of reading past the first third of “War and Peace”, take a gander at “We’ve Got to Stop Meeting This Way”, in European Sketches Short-Short Stories, Chinook Publishers, 1975. I got so excited writing short-short stories that I published two other collections. (The Man Sitting in Place Pigalle and The Third Collection).

So that was my beginning. My end, well I guess this article may be my end.

My scientific writings which number over a hundred papers published on the biochemistry of cancer are a result of my research. These are writings that contribute to the cancer problem and stand on their own. My non-scientific writing is an expression of my emotions be it romantic or adventurous, real or fiction.

One writes I think, maybe just as the Neanderthals did, attempting to communicate challenging a cave wall or today a blank sheet of paper. Yesterday I picked up my autobiography, “From The Catalpa Tree to the Elm Tree, iUniverse, 2014” and searched for my beginnings in fictional writing, but found none. Ha ha! On the back cover–that I am a screenplay writer “A Screenplay, a Teleplay, a Foreign Film, A Stage Play and an Epic Movie, URLink and Media, 2019”  and have written a novel “From An Ensenada Window-An Abstract Novel, Vantage Press, 2008” And poems published in two publications “Tundra Alone, A Celebration of Poets, The International Library of Poetry, 1998 and A Voice From High and The Stove, Poetry Corner, Initiative Publishing House,  1981”  The hint of things to come.

I always thought of “The Writer” as being the hard drinker of whisky sitting in the half shade outside of a tavern in Mexico. But actually the writer of course could be anyone anywhere challenging that blank sheet–or creating the story in his mind. I have one that I’ve been working on every night, falling to sleep–I hope I write it before I croak!

I’ve been on the verge of writing again but the distractions are enormous, the smallest can be used as an excuse not to write on the bank sheet. The newest distractions of course include appointments for Covid vaccinations for me and my wife, daughter, and grandson. But I am sure that my recording late showings of Turner Classic Movies is just ab easy way out. I’m writing this in pen right now while on the exer-cycle; I also do 30 lb. dumbbells, 50 reps. Four times a day. Especially if my wife doesn’t walk while I try to keep up with her jogging–long story of my Parkinsonism. I used to be an ultra-runner (50 miler-double marathoner distance) and would run 4 hours a day (marathon distance) to keep in shape. Now I have trouble walking across the street to my neighbors for a brandy.

I, being a quasi-pseudo agnostic, should finish by giving thanks to a creator of reality if there is one, for my existence in this moment of time among the stars.

– Ronald Lee Hancock

P.S. You didn’t have to have children get cancer.

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