Writing can be isolating. Hours at a computer. No one to say that the sentences I’ve just crafted are clear or confusing, concise or wandering. Then I get a message, completely unsolicited, from a mum whose son has just read my book. “He loved it,” she says. “He wants to meet you.” Suddenly there is a face to my reader. I’m both happy and shy.
As a writer my goal is to touch people in some way, make them laugh or cry, think or feel deeply. Now it is real.