Today I welcome author Furman D. Goff as he shares about his book, his career, and some things on his mind.

I’m not entirely sure what a “blog” is.  I mean, it sounds like something that would end up in a Kleenex when you have a cold.

I suppose what I’d most like to talk about is me. However, since that would bore the pants off both of us, I’ll just write about writing.

I always knew I wanted to write books. I read so much when I was a kid, I realized that I could write books too. I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to make money at it. So, after serving in the U.S. Coast Guard for 4 years, I did what everyone else does and got a job as a computer programmer for the federal government. Thirty years later, I find myself retired with literally nothing else to do.

So, I sat down at my computer and started writing.

All right, enough about me. Writing. How to you do it? I think Stephen King said, “Just write—the rest will come later” or something to that effect and I tend to agree with him. Format, plot, character flaws, descriptions, settings, most of these things can be dealt with later in your story. What matters most is getting all your ideas down on paper. Morale of the story—writers should just write. Here is the first page of my first novel in case anyone is interested. It’s historical fiction about a teenager in Ancient Rome who wants to travel to Egypt to study medicine. He’s flawed but he knows what he wants. He’s going to have many adventures and some spooky stuff may happen as well.

About the author: Feel free to contact Furman with questions or comments at dave DOT goff AT ymail DOT com or you can leave a comment on this post.

A Peek inside Medicus

Chapter 1

The warm wind blew through a village nestled at the foot of Mt. Massico, approximately 30 miles north of Neopolis. Grape vines grew along the ridges and gentle slopes. The sweet red wine produced from the Aglianico grapes grown here produced the most popular wine in Rome. Known in Rome as Falerian red, the wine was extremely popular with the nobles and senators and anyone else who could afford it. The harvesting,, stomping, and fermenting of the grapes was a task best suited to the young and strong.

The young man was stocky and well built. His dark complexion and curly black hair, along with his finely shaped eyebrows, made him a welcome sight to the females in the village. His biceps bulged from moving rocks around the farm and working in the small forge they operated for making weapons and tools. Pressing the olive oil in the hand press his grandfather had bought in Rome and grinding grain with the hand-operated millstone ensured that he grew big and strong. But it was his personality that made him popular with people. Quick with a joke and a smile, he always had something nice to say to people. He had been born to a loving mother and father and given the fine Roman name of Nicola Vennuci. His parents had both died of sleeping sickness when he was young. He had been raised by his grandfather.

The farm they worked so hard to maintain had been in their family for generations. It had originally been granted to his great, great grandfather by the Senate for his service in legions during the second Macedonian war. Originally a small plot consisting of just a few hectares, the family had accumulated land for the past two centuries and now he could gaze out at more than a hundred hectares. Acres of carefully terraced grapevines, olive and figs trees stretching out as far as the eye could see.