First, dear readers, thank you for your kind words of encouragement. You may not realise quite how important they are to a writer who works in fairly isolated circumstances. There are twin occupational hazards: that you’ll become deluded about the true scale of your own talent, an embittered mutterer against the world of publishing, or that you’ll lose all self-confidence and give up. Readers who are genuinely hoping for another book are the perfect antidote to either tendency.
These are challenging (and exciting) times for me, as the prospect of self-publishing looks ever more likely, and I have never missed my husband more than I do now. He was a great sounding board, a fount of ideas and also a bit of a fan. But on, on.
People often ask me about creative writing groups and book clubs. As a writer I love book clubs, but I don’t want to belong to one. I need personal control of my precious reading time. and I don’t necessarily want to read the police procedural your sister-in-law loved.
As for creative writing, that would truly be a busman’s holiday. I know professional writers who never switch off, who only hang out with other writers and talk shop. I can’t think of anything worse. Writers need a varied diet. They need to get out and about.
Mondays, I have a Welsh lesson, and walk down to the harbour in search of seals. Tuesdays I take my tapestry to the church craft bee. Wednesdays, I’m a hermit. Thursdays, I visit my husband, then cheer myself up by buying cake and eavesdropping on conversations during my train ride home. Fridays, I play catch-up in order to achieve my weekly target of five thousand words. Weekends, I change the sheets and learn how to self-publish. I tell ya. Life’s rich variety.