I think the weirdest thing about being a writer is that you can spend as much time as you want writing without feeling like much of a writer. I’ve always said that being in a room with other writers helps with that – it’s probably some sort of antidote to the hours we spend on our own and in our own heads – sharing space with people doing the same thing, or struggling to do the same thing, is a nourishing thing. Teaching, doing readings – they help as well because there’s a connection between you and who you’re working with and, I believe that writing, that stories, are always a sort of dialogue between reader and author, even when you’re not even in the same room.
The best connection though, the best thing about being a writer, is having work out there and having people read it (and enjoy it). And it’s been a strange couple of years in terms of output from me. I’ve spent loads of time writing, and I’ve written loads of stuff – some I’m really proud of, others that are best not remembered but, for a multitude of reasons, stuff hasn’t been getting out there. Mostly that’s because of time and me not actually sending things anywhere (which is a bad habit I developed – new writers: once you’re happy that what you’ve written is the best it can be get into that habit of sending stuff out there – and when it comes back, see if you can make it better and then send it out again – read the places who publish the sort of things you write, enjoy what they publish, and aim to be as good as them).
Which is a long way of saying that I’m delighted that two of my stories, one about a mistaken wink on a train, another about someone appearing, mysteriously, in someone’s morning cup of coffee, are live over at the brilliant Across The Margain. They’re both stories I’m proud of and I’m thrilled that they’re out there for other people to read. It feels good to be back.
You can read them both BY CLICKING HERE.