Bowie and Me

I’ve been meaning to do this for ages. Post something on here about David Bowie, once the (star)dust had settled after his passing. And, I guess, now I’m here doing it there doesn’t seem that there’s too much to say that’s not already been said, much better, and by much cleverer and successful people, than me.

What I will say is: thanks. I know, absolutely –  without question – that without him I would not be doing what I’m doing now were it not for him. And that’s not because I’m a Bowie superfan, because I’m not. I love his music and I love what he did. But the reason I’m sitting here, able to do this, able to have an audience, to publish the kind of books and stories I publish, (picture books for grown ups about a relationship told through people’s favourite words and trees, anyone!) and to have those magazine and publishers who publish them, owes so, so much to him. He opened doors. He showed people in the mainstream what was possible. In fact, I’d go as far to say that he showed that anything is possible if you try and if you have vision and conviction. And that different is good. That different can be better – exciting. And also that it’s okay to try and to fuck up. There haven’t been too many of those around and we are lucky when they find us.

When I was at the end of writing Not So Perfect I was listening to Bowie a lot and, as a result, the last story in the book is my retelling (if you can call it that) of Five Years and it’s one I’m still, more than five years on, really proud of.

I had a few minutes earlier so I read it. Here it is.

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