Ten

Just realised, I've been writing for ten years this month. Ten bloody years. And when I say bloody, I mean it. As the great Charles Willeford once suggested, writing is a bloodsport. You tear your hair out for these stories and what do they do when you send them out into the world? Come slinking back, tail betwixt legs. Some don't. Some find a place in the culture, even if hardly anyone notices them. As long as they have a few admirers, everything's OK.

And we write on.