imposter

Between promoting my book and finishing my latest one, I continue my everyday chores and leisure activities. I swim, visit elderly relatives, undertake essential domestic duties (gone are the days of striving to be a goddess of the home), meet friends for lunch, take in movies, spend time with loved ones, and occasionally fantasise about trying new recipes: cooking them, I mean.


And between all these worthy tasks,  I interview writers and am interviewed back.  I give readings of my forthcoming novel, ruminate over the shape of my eyebrows
and when I am actually going to lose weight.

    




Today I popped into a local grocery shop to pick up the latest edition of the Spurtle, Broughton's independent community paper, knowing that I would feature on page 2.  It was with a rush of excitement and anxiety that I turned to said page to read my interview, conducted several weeks ago.  It was with a bellow of relief that I saw that the better of the two photos I'd submitted had been chosen.  With a feeling of surprise that after the first mention of my name I was referred to as 'Riddell'.  And with pleasure that I read a delightfully expressed article about me.  http://www.broughtonspurtle.org.uk/

Of course the questioning, self-doubting devil - always ready to surface - sneered: this is too good to be about you.  This is what you aimed to do, perhaps, but have you really done it?  Has the interviewer over-egged your writing abilities?  Will readers of your novel subsequently be disappointed?

This little demon and I are old friends.  We inhabit the same body.  He accompanies me everywhere. Challenging me to defend myself.  Preventing me from becoming conceited, full of myself, superior.  That said, I'd be happy to lend him out.  Have a break from his constant undermining and contemptuous comments.  There'd be no charge.  Requests on a postcard, please.

Jane