The Awakening
I am a literary grub. Not a bloated, grotesque white beastie that looks like it will pop, no, I’m more like a naive furry one that is crawling very tenderly across a narrow bookshelf. If the actual writing process was bewildering, I’m now lurching into a mysterious terrain wearing three pairs of Wellington boots – bright, multicoloured boots. And yet in the midst of this exalted new world I still feel inconspicuous. This is surprisingly comforting. I’m groping blindly forward
