First Past the Post

I arrived back from a last minute cruise with my 12 year old son a couple of weeks ago. On the formal night he was doing his best not to show how uncomfortable and bored he was in his first ever suit, when an elderly woman from the next table began to engage us in conversation. I’ve never met a more lively octogenarian. Her razor sharp wit instantly got my son laughing, as she mapped out his future as a pilot in captivating detail. Later, she turned to me and apologised for what she was about to say:

`I’ve always had a strong sense about people and, well, I feel you must be a writer.’

I felt ashamed. I’ve wanted to be a – published- writer ever since I plagiarised E. Nesbit at the age of 7. I’ve come close, even summoned to a meeting with a publicist at Hodder’s once to discuss how my novel would be marketed. That was before the sales team decided it wasn’t a winner. So I’ve grown discouraged and life has intervened in the shape of 6 adopted kids and a career as a psychotherapist.

This blog then is dedicated to that delightful woman- I have a terrible memory for names, although faces stay with me for years. She’s done more to encourage me with those few words than anyone else, ever. Thank you!

I showed this to my lovely husband and he was rightly offended that I’d chosen a stranger over him. But then maybe that’s the same reason I want to be published. It’s recognition from strangers I desire, so all his praise gets discounted, as bias.