Get Back, Fans.

 I've had two fan letters this year.

This is very odd. I've never had any fan letters, or the fans that write them, before. It's strange, yes, but profoundly moving. It's odd to think of the work you shunt off into the void having any effect on anyone, ever connecting with anyone. It's so abstract. Intellectually, I know some people have bought the books, some may even have read them. But being arsed to pick up a pen - the letter's handwritten - to tell me about it, well that's something else. 

This is the text of the latest one: 

JPH, 

Thank you for bringing some sunshine into my life at this challenging time of year. I have a collection of books in the study (posh term for the wee bedroom) and the collections estimate would number over a 100. They have rested without disturbance for over 10 years. For me to read any book in 2 days is the equivalent of me walking up the river Lagan without buoyancy aids. 

I am astonished at your effortless gift of mixing irony, humour and life events into a delicious sandwich which satisfied my appetite for more offerings from JPH. Do keep up the "creative flow", although I would hesitate at using your body in any more unplanned accidents. Shake, Rattle + Roll. LOVE THIS SO MUCH. 

They'd taken the time to write this on a photocopy of a copy of Spine. How's that for proof of purchase? 

There aren't, in fact, a host of positives about this writing lark. It's a largely thankless task, constantly teetering on the brink of disaster. The money's not great. The prestige is limited. I am not ushered behind many velvet ropes. Grapes remain stubbornly unpeeled. I've very little use for my helicopter pad. It was, on reflection, a poor investment, and I was badly advised. It is, to quote Les McQueen, the patron saint of all thwarted artists - a shit business. 

So when something like this happens, it's like sunshine for the soul. It's a glimpse of blue sky in the bleak midwinter. It's a help, is what it is. 

Gawd bless, yer.