Hey there!

Apologies ahead of time folks, but this isn't an update per se. At least not in this story. It's an update about me. My story. Ron Starke's story. The guy that writes shit so weird he doesn't even use his real name. That weird writing hasn't exactly been at the top of my priority list for the past couple of months—and for good reason, too. I was too busy being convinced I was dying. I mean, I know I'm dying. We all are, but I thought I was looking at an early trip to that eternal oblivion. I still could be, but the chances are very slim.

Without turning this into an American Idol sob story, the chain of events looks something like this. I broke my foot, then I found out my blood pressure was out of control. I made an appointment with my doctor to fix that and he ordered routine blood work as part of my physical. My blood work came back abnormal. This earned me a referral to a hematologist. He told me I have a blood disorder. How do you not find out you have a blood disorder until your mid-thirties, you ask? Easy. I'm a—pun intended—red blooded American. We don't see the doctor until we're at least thirty. Too expensive.

Anyway, it's not life threatening, thank god, but it's something my kids need to be aware of in case they decide to breed. Then, during the physical exam, he found a fucking mass in my armpit. And he thought it was cancer.

Next thing I know, I'm a 35-year-old male spending a whole hell of a lot of time at the Breast Health Center here in town. Bless those ladies, by the way. They are awesome. They put me through the ringer, though. First, I have an ultrasound. Diagnosis? Suspicious mass, most likely cancer. Great! Now I know deep in my soul that I'm dying. Next step is a biopsy. I have one. It hurts like hell. It's not supposed to hurt like hell, but it does. Eventually, I get some results. NOT cancer. At least, most likely not cancerous. What I have growing inside me is a peripheral nerve sheath tumor. A schwannoma. That's why it hurt so badly. It's a bundle of runaway nerve cells. These bundles are usually benign, but it could be malignant. Unlikely, but possible. I'm confident it isn't, but I'm not taking any chances. I'm getting my own personal Dumbass cut out on October 21. Fingers crossed it goes well.

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While all this was going on, my primary worry was about my family and how they would fare after my untimely doom. I planned. Schemed. I wish I could say that writing was a part of those plans. I love writing and telling weird stories. But it doesn't pay the bills. To be honest, I'm a couple thousand dollars in the hole with my first book, Slab Steele and the Venusian Exchange, and its sequel, Slab Steele and the Outer Rim Job. I spent two years working on that world and creating the characters in it, and I learned a lot. Foremost, it was a story for me. A story that I wanted to tell—something that gave me joy. And it did. I also learned a lot about writing and storytelling. About what not to do.

During my hiatus, I realized I was making a lot of the same mistakes with Flap Merganser as I had with Slab Steele. I spent too long with the setup, etc. Now I love the premise behind this story and I think it could be fantastic. It deserves better. So, that's what I'm going to do.

I'm starting fresh. Well, sort of. The first few chapters will be similar, but with a few new jokes. We're going to get into the action faster. And the name is different. I'm calling it Duck Around and Find Out. Sorry, that's Duck Around and Find Out. Ah, duck it. You know I mean. Ducking autocorrect. You can the new first chapter at the link below. I'm leaving this version up for now. I think it's cool to see how a story changes from draft to draft to what you eventually see on Kindle or hear on Audible. And I want to keep the views and achievements, obviously. What kind of gamer would I be if I lost an achievement?

So please, the three of you that read this fiction, follow along as the story unfolds. I would greatly appreciate it.

Much love from one weirdo to another,

Ron Starke