Blessed are the weird people


It’s all too easy, sometimes, to despair. No, let me rephrase that: I find it all to easy to despair, sometimes, about my writing. (I suppose, especially when I’ve not been well and my natural resilience is low.)

Plenty of people advise me – Yeah, just write what you love. Anything else is a bonus. Rock on!

So I do.

But sometimes, just sometimes, it would be lovely if someone else loved it too. By which I mean, someone who will publish it.

NO – that wasn’t the reason I wrote it in the first place, whatever it was – in this case, Of Night And Light. I wrote it because it was in my heart and bursting to get out.

Confession: I haven’t even read through the latest report. At the moment, my heart and spirit won’t take it.

By the way, I don’t even know what the report says (well, obviously I don’t – duh – since I haven’t read it!) and it might say some very positive things and then I’ll feel a fool.

At the moment it feels just a wee bit too risky.

So, if you don’t mind, I’ll just carrying on torturing myself.

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