Firstly, to all the keyboard-thumping zombies who can barely string three words together to create a coherent sentence; to the editors who assemble those heaps and tumbles of barely literate detritus into paragraphs of prose; to the publishers who actually buy that crap, glue it together and place the shiny-bound and gilt pages in my book store for the singular purpose of infecting me with a terminal case of I can write better than this trash disease; let me say — with feeling — screw you. Screw you all.

And secondly, to all of you who have written subtle, character driven-fiction; those who have reached deep into the fabric of your imagination and snatched a sparse few threads from which you’ve woven together the bones and sinews of believable, candid and flawed people; to those who have breathed life into words and have led me to root for your protagonist, grind my teeth at your villains, hold my breath as I flip the page; thank-you. You have won my admiration and gratitude all over again.

Writing is easy. It’s just the bit with the words — the right words — that’s hard.

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