To be a writer, you have to do three things: (a) write, (b) get published, (c) write some more. Millions of people manage (a) but only a tiny proportion make it to (b). Clearly, you can't do (b) without having first done (a), but (b) isn't needed to get to (c) - all you need is time. Two alternatives here: either you cope on four hours of sleep, or you have a private fortune. I don't tick either box, so don't do (c), therefore am not a writer. In fact, I never was one, because unless you do (a) with a decent certainty of (b), you qualify only as an aspiring writer, in other words not at all. Only people whose income actually stems from (b) really qualify, and there aren't many of those. Because (b) in itself is not enough: we have to insert (b+), which is sell enough copies to earn you the money that allows you to carry on with (c). I'm not a writer, but writing was my hobby. More precisely, French Sally was my hobby. I took it with me on holidays, which were often in faraway places - Vietnam, Vancouver, Peru - places you don't do justice to unless you see all the sights. So maybe I missed a few - when you hit the streets of Hanoi at midday, you're more mad dog than conscientious tourist, but hey, with 30 pages of notebook covered, you're happy.
A few things I confidently predict that French Sally won't be:
- Part of a Waterstones 3 for the price of 2 deal
- Reviewed in the TLS
- On display in an airport
- Recommended by Richard and Judy
- On the Sunday Times bestseller list
All this is regrettable, as it means I'm never likely to reach the hallowed (b+). My hope, more modest but none the less ardent for that, is that enough copies do get sold for my brave publishers to recoup their initial outlay.
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