When I got my first book published, I thought that I would now be be living The Writing Life. This had something to do with being languid and bourgeois, I felt, ascending to a higher plane than that which I had previously occupied. (And which involved scraping yogurt off small children, watching X factor, wearing dodgy leggings etc.) I'd be the parallel version of myself that had never seen the light of day before, the one that didn't get The Worst Perm in the School in 1977, the one that went to Cambridge, not Goldsmiths, the one that dated Hugh Grant, not some bloke from Halifax who ended up being a racing tipster. And so on.

This proved not to be the case. My life as a reasonably crap person carried on, reasonably uninterrupted. I still wadged about in a horrible dressing gown, read Hallo magazine in the queue at Sainsbury's, still knew far too much about celebrity cellulite. And my eyes still glazed over when I tried to read the works of Proust, Dostoevsky or Paul Auster.

This seemed wrong at first. When was I going to turn into Edna O'Brien? But of course this was extremely naive. Ms O'Brien would have been beautiful and fragrant whatever career path she had chosen, and it is my fate to a lower middle class person from the middle of England with appalling eyesight and fairly average levels of charisma.

And that is fine - as long as someone publishes my goddam novels...


  1. Surely no glaze over Auster! (I'm a fan) But Love the rest of this, you draw me in with your posts you writer you.

    One thing, if I may suggest, chuck out that dressing gown.. today.

  2. I'm still waiting, too. But I got a lovely Toast dressing gown for my christmas present, so I've got that bit sorted. The only problem is it completely removes any inclination to get dressed in the morning, so the dodgy leggings languish unworn...

  3. The last week or so I've been restlessly searching around for "the answer," and just like that, you handed it to me.

    Thanks for making it okay to be me. I love your blog.

    1. Thank you so much for that! Really glad you are finding it useful.

  4. Julia - v. impressed with chic dressing gown approach. I might have to apply the Edna O'Brien test to all future d.gown aquisition. I'm thinking probably watered silk and lace, rather than moulting towelling, my previous look.

  5. Yes. It's an effective and practical step. Until Christmas, I was in a faded lilac satin thing that I had picked up from Primarché to be pregnant in. It had lost its belt so was done up with a sort of woollen thing, and the son I gestated while wearing it is now twelve.


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