Okay, I admit it. Most of what I do with my writing, I do on a hunch. I back a feeling, a whisper that suggests a path might be interesting to follow, might lead to something, though what that something might be, is open to question, and probably would not stand close, critical scrutiny. I act without concrete evidence of anything substantial, either to gain or to see; which, you may agree, is an odd way to do business, a strange way to procure results in this world of tangibles, projections and economic forecasts. Indeed, sometimes this method of doing things tests my faith almost to snapping point.

Nevertheless, though I would be hard pressed to explain why I doggedly continue to do so, I guard my hunches carefully and always try to honour them. I know that most of our best and most important decisions are not, in fact, the outcome of logic or common sense, but a response to a deeply felt desire or need. (When we buy a house, we care less about what is on our tick lists and more about how the hallway makes us feel.) That I may not yet see the outcome of a course of action does not mean I should not set my compass in that direction.


So, in a spirit of hope and adventure, I sit here at night printing off my radio play. The printer is small and slow, but efficient and soothing, and, so long as I am careful, I can manage to multitask quite effectively, so I do not feel the paper, the ink or my time is wasted. I am going to have the completed work ring bound, and take it, with my book outlines, to the London Book Fair. Just because. The London Book Fair is an amazing opportunity, bringing together readers, authors, agents, publishers, promoters and industry specialists from across the world. Given that, why would I not take my radio play?

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