The Smell of Burning

A little ironic, that title, given I have no sense of smell but this summer I have doused my bridges in hope, courage and determination and left them flaming and crackling behind me. So why, after years of wailing and moaning and grinding of teeth, now? Several reasons. Last year, at my son's graduation ceremony, Greg Dyke (former Director-General of the BBC, currently - amongst other things - Chancellor of York University)spoke with wit and wisdom to the assembled ranks of proud and hopeful young people before him. The piece of advice which most struck a chord with me was 'Never stay in a job you hate'. It's all very well for him, I thought at the time. Easy for people like you. But it stuck, and as the months went by I remembered those words less with cynicism than with a growing sense of possibility. And in the imploding school, people I cared about were destroyed by falling rubble. My own temporary place of safety was to be exposed to the bombs and the poison gas. I walked away. Enough finally became enough. Then for a weekend towards the end of July, I attended the Harrogate Crime Writing Festival. The sun shone. Writers whose work I admired spoke with humour and passion for their craft. One very talented, successful and lovely writer offered to back my approach to her agent. Following this, I received a cheque from the US arm of Amazon for the Kindle sales of my novel. Another agent has asked to see the whole book. Following this again, the prospect of volunteering and blogging at The Manchester Literature Festival in October shines as a beacon in the hazy and uncertain months ahead. I feel as if I'm becoming myself, liberated and inspired. And very, very nervous. But if not now, when?