Oscar Wilde once said that the most terrifying sentence in the English language is: 'I had a very interesting dream last night'. I would like to paraphrase the noble old Irish bard and say that the most terrifying sentence in the English language appears to be: 'I've written a book'. Never have I known a sentence more calculated to have people point over your shoulder, declare 'Wow, is that the time' and be gone. For the most part they are terrified you are going to drone on for hours and hours about every nuance of the plot or, worse still, you are going to ask them to help you get it published because; 'You know that friend you have in publishing...'. Actually I'm being slightly disingenuous - there are of course plenty who WILL listen to you drone on and on about every nuance of the plot – the trouble is' they're mostly related to you. In January 2012 I decided finally to do it - and hang the consequences. It's kind of gotten out of hand; I'm at 140,000 words and about 2/3 finished. This is surprising as I've always maintained that any book that's over 350 pages is too long by every page past 351, but wow, what a lot I have to say and, as Dickens sadly didn't say; 'wow, I need an editor'. All this is fine and dandy but why am I here? Frankly I'm lonely. Writing has been hard on the psyche; it's taken me to some dark places (and left me there), it possesses me and it haunts me. I am wracked with doubts, I am tormented by the idea that it might fail for any one of a thousand reasons (pick form: crap writing, crap idea, crap execution of a good idea, wrong subject, no audience, not zeitgeist but yesterdaygeist, so the list goes on). But then I thought; hold on a minute, there's a bunch of people out there just like me! Hopeless dreamers who have neglected their lives, abandoned their families and tormented their friends just for the simple stupid idea that they HAVE TO WRITE. Hello...can I come in? It's cold out here.