
How do you know that I might be writing?
Inky fingers, usually.
Don’t worry, I do wash my hands. I’m not a complete heathen.
Most of my books are handwritten. I have a clutch of ink pens and a box of Diamine Fountain pen inks. Currently, there is magenta, imperial purple and a several shades of blue. I think I finished a bottle of midnight today as I sat down and wrote a few chapters.
Ink has a tendency to stain. Becomes a testament to creativity in covering my fingertips and accenting finger prints. Most of my pens have converters, the rest are filled with a variety of cartridges.
There has been progress today, with a couple of chapters written. Whilst each chapter has a heading that is a vague plan, there is a joy when the ink flows to unexpected quarters and avenues. I’m not entirely a seat of the pants planner, but I do smile at times when The Muse discovers unchartered territory.
I won’t reveal the WIP just yet. I would like to get the first draft complete and knock it into some sort of decent shape before going public. It’s a risk crafting something, putting some part of your soul into it, before releasing it. It’s scary and exciting but can also contain feelings of vulnerability. Especially when you’re not everyone’s favourite cup of tea.
When readers find my work and invest, it’s a joy and I appreciate them all.
Not a big fan club, not yet anyway. I live in hope. Never say never, you know. I shall write what I can and I hope readers will find it. In a world where we are presented with the ‘tik tok sensation’ tags and ‘USA Today bestseller’ captions, it’s difficult being an indie author.
Even the greatest of writers, living and long gone, have once upon time been a writer who has a pen, with a dream that someone, some day they will be asked-may I have your autograph, I loved your book.
Dreams and hopes. The most curious facets of the human condition. The most powerful though. For a dream, a hope, can anything.











