Two Years of Fine
I was so busy celebrating my anniversary back on the fourth of November, I missed another one. November the fourth was the second anniversary of my first novel, Fine. It seems a lot longer. The publication of the book chimed with the start of Trump's second presidency, which might well be why it seems so long ago. What a long strange trip it's been. You cannot imagine my joy, on waking up in a Brighton hotel, to read in a long and generous e-mail, that somebody did, finally, want to publish my book. The day before I'd just been happy to be in Brighton. Now I was in Brighton as an author. I immediately went out to buy a cravat. I did not, in fact, though cravats are freely available in Brighton. What I did was walk from Brighton through Hove and onto Portslade, through Victoria Park, and up the hill to the Old Shoreham Road, turning right into the Library at the bottom on the road where I lived from the age of five to thirteen. This was the place where I first learned to ...
