Frank O'Connor's photostream

I am a compulsive addict in the army of frustrated writers. If I could just stop and become a moderately successful dog walker, then my life would be less erratic. But I cannot. The brain burbles. The fingers type. The dogs remain unwalked.

I am indeed named after an Irish writer. My mother lived next door to him when she was a little girl. He used to come out into his front garden, drunk and shouting. My mother was frightened by this. So, naturally, she named me after him. I was thus bequeathed with an early story to tell at all informal introductions.

I live right in the center of a big European city with my wife and a St. Bernard. We run our own business (not dog walking) but it is purely to fund our artistic aims, so we mostly live on hummus.