Many people believe that nobody should be writing about life until they’ve at least lived some. And indeed, many writers in their 20s encounter nothing but rejection, locked doors, and a tendency to gaze in the mirror a little too long as they wonder why the world doesn’t understand them.
However, a few others succeed. And I take my hat off to them (I am not feeling very well today, and am therefore wearing grotty clothing which do not bear description, but there is inexplicable comfort in sometimes wearing a hat indoors), because I would never have been one of them.
Instead, I am one of those long-time scribblers who spent their single-digit years writing cutesy stories, their…
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