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?