On our way back from lunch out in a neighbouring town today, the kids insisted on dropping into their favourite bookshops to stock up on a few new reads. This is good for them, but for me? Glancing over walls of shelves and tables stacked with books simply causes me to meditate on my own love of writing, and the futility of yearning to see my words in print. There is no place, it occurs to me, for writing as niche as mine. Perhaps that is why I have more or less abandoned it now. And that’s probably for the best.
Last modified: 22 January 2023
