The Other Me
‘Shut In’ v. Writing was my best therapy. It had always been my best therapy. I could live vicariously through writing, but I could also vent and make sense of the thoughts tumbling around in my head; I could be biographical, through events, through characters, through emotions, whilst writing fiction; I could tell and share stories with the world around me … if I could ever make it. Because making it was another matter entirely. Once, there’d been an unassailable self-belief that it would happen, but now I was pushing past my mid-20s, had a couple of (unpublished) novels, a handful of screenplays, and lots of short stories behind me,…
The Other Me
‘Shut In’ iv. A lot of things made it easy to live in such a self-contained environment. The internet was an enabler where I never had to leave the house. I could chat with people from across the world, or roleplay games for entertainment that gave me a vicarious taste of the world beyond my door, I could do my banking, order books, and have almost everything I used to have, but now have it at my fingertips. For my writing, I could look up Hollywood production companies and pitch screenplays overseas, or even network with people here – not that anything ever went anywhere. A few times, contact led…