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256 pages, Hardcover
First published June 7, 2022
That you, like us, must be tiring of this.__________
That this bit will never make the script.
The movie of this.
It will be a couple of scenes at best.
Possibly cut with a montage to include the walk on Primrose Hill with my mum and Mabel and ice-skating at Somerset House in those last days of December.
And maybe with me circling the heath, mist low, dog in tow, looking mournfully at Hampstead Ponds, icy and freezing.
And, of course, me picking up the jar of honey, tearfully smiling at the box of eggs.
But it happened.
It really happened. And what no one tells you about proper unfolding tragedy is that it is scary, and adrenalizing.
But mainly it is boring.
The waiting is boring.
But I don’t know how to get to the next bit until we’re past this.
"What do you do?" Shakespearean beard is sitting opposite me.If I hadn't read in a review that the reviewer had also not heard of the author and also disliked the writing I mightn't have perservered. Still, the third chapter is written in proper long sentences conveying information rather than the author's state of mind. It's an interesting topic, a partner come back from a coma and not recognising their wife, so I despite the first two exasperating chapters I haven't given up. It might yet turn into a
Say it.
Say it.
I can say it.
I get paid now.
Almost paid now.
I can say it.
I am almost earning money. A decade of waitressing almost behind me.
"I'm a writer."