R. J. Dillon has never lost sight of his roots, frequently returning for a heady dose of nostalgia to a small Lancashire cotton town where he was raised by his mother after his father died. He developed a love-hate relationship with education, emerging relatively unscathed with a first class honours degree, masters and Ph.D.
He has held a varied assortment of jobs reflecting his commitment and hard work; he has a charming flair for new challenges, and a high disregard for needless authority. He’s served in the Royal Navy for a short period, toiled as a labourer, overhauled and installed machinery as a technician, loaded garments into trailers, experienced advertising, worked freelance, taught and taught some more.
His first, tentative steps at writing came when he was five – he still has the ‘action’ story with crayoned illustrations to prove it. Professionally, he’s written reports, edited reports, compiled journals, produced copy, poetry, an academic book and most recently he’s concentrated on fiction.
He doesn’t suffer fools or the instant-gratification culture in any form. He mourns the loss of individual and collective responsibility. He turned his back on alcohol several years ago. He doesn’t go out of his way looking for trouble, but it has a habit of seeking him out; he’s had shoes thrown at him, fair and devious punches, glasses of wine and holy water – not all by the same person.
When he’s not writing, researching or travelling, Dillon has taken to the hills on and off challenging trails; now he concentrates on coastal walks. He is an accomplished photographer, enjoys reading biographies and non-fiction.
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