“I read your piece in a magazine yesterday when I was getting my hair done.”
Since making my print debut I’ve recieved some amazing emails and messages from people sharing their own stories, hopes and dreams. It’s been a powerful reminder that writing isn’t the lonely profession it’s sometimes caricatured as – solitary scribbler locked in garret (though my flat is currently doing its best to arrest my ageing process by maintaining the same temperature as my fridge). Writing’s an intimate conversation, albeit one in which call and response can be separated by weeks, months or even centuries.
It is a bit of a dilemma for me, though. Should I carry on writing as if no-one’s reading, or should I be mindful that real people read what I’m putting together, who might be hurt, or shocked, or tempted to follow me down the rollercoaster road that is riding a motorcyle?