Saturday, 15 August 2015

Changing Titles.

A few years ago a reporter from the local paper came to interview me about something or other, and eventually asked me: ‘What do you do?’ I could have been honest and replied ‘not a lot,’ but I styled it out and said I was a writer. By then I’d written 40-odd short stories, a novel and a novella, much of which had garnered a reasonable amount of approbation and been published, so I decided I was entitled to the title (which is a poor way of putting it, but occasionally I like to feel flawed.)

It was the first time I’d ever made the claim in public, even though I’d written lots of things before the fiction and even got paid for some of it, but I decided it was high time I did. I’d always wanted to be a writer, you see, and felt it was time to claim my birthright.

Not long after that the stories ran out but the writing bug was still wriggling. That was when I started this blog, and the fruits are now stored in my personal Google database (well, OK, file) there to be accessed by anybody with a few minutes to waste on not a lot.

But now I have a problem. At the moment I have little urge to say anything and nothing to say anyway, and how can you call yourself a writer if you’ve got nothing to write?

Maybe this is a watershed. Maybe I'm no longer a writer and need a new career. Maybe the next time I get asked ‘What do you do?’ I can say ‘I’m a drinker.’ I’ve had lots of practice, and who knows where it might lead?

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