I love stories in any form, but I have a passion for books as physical objects, the feel of them, the smell of them. I like books that have been handled by other people, discovering sand among the pages of a story I’m reading by the fire in winter, crumbs of someone else’s cake, notes in the margin. I love a book that has lived, but I also love a pristine new book, where I am the first; this is the beginning of its journey.
Zosia Wand by Mark Harrison
When I was a child, being a writer was something only educated, wealthy people did. As the child of a migrant I was expected to follow a solid career. If I couldn’t be a doctor or a dentist (not a hope!) then I was expected to be a teacher. I went to work in community theatre (a compromise of sorts). A week before my 30th birthday I retired. I had become an accountant in a world where other people were creative. I completed an MA in Creative Writing. I wrote and wrote and some plays were produced and some weren’t and 5 novels were written but not published. A week before my 50th birthday I sat down to write Trust Me.
The Insecurity Imp still sits on my shoulder and nags at me. I do my best to ignore it and rely on the support of friends and fellow writers.
I was diagnosed with a benign brain tumour when I was 42. It had grown so large it was pressing on my optic nerve. My daughters were 7 and 3 and I went from being invincible to staring death straight in the face. Every day is a bonus now and my priorities are all in the right place. My children are my reason for staying alive and for realising my own goals. The two are not incompatible. I want my daughters to see what’s possible and to seek it for themselves. I am fortunate to have a supportive partner. This makes everything possible. Without him everything would be so much harder. Not impossible, but much harder.
I am proud to be European. Half Polish and half English, I speak with a strong south London accent but have a foreign name. The bloody-minded, opinionated, passionate part of me that will not give up is Polish. The more patient, reasonable, polite part of me is English. They both play their part.
My stories are full of food. I like the preparation and the celebration. Food brings people together. It brings cultures together. The sharing of food is a nourishing experience on so many levels.
I need to walk. I work intensely inside my imagination, at a computer or with a notebook, at a desk, and when I look up I crave movement, the open air, trees, sky, water if possible. Most of my best ideas come when I’m walking.
I am from a salvaged family. We were broken across several generations by exile, divorce, alcoholism and mental illness. What saved us was love from unexpected places. I learned to nurture my children from an elderly Polish aunt, though she wasn’t a blood relative. An orphan herself, with no children of her own, she loved us with a passion and she lives on in every act of love I show my children and in every act of love they will one day show their own. These unexpected relationships fascinate me and are at the heart of everything I write.
I have made a Christmas story book for my children every year since they were toddlers, where they are the protagonists. These stories captured their characters, their fleeting obsessions, key phrases and little gestures that might otherwise have been forgotten. I now run workshops to help other people do the same. You don’t have to be a professional writer to create a story book for your family, and that book may well outlive you.
I can’t do anything useful after 8pm. TV, wine, chocolate, then bed with a book. Bliss.
