I always now neurotically plied her with questions about what happened, what they'd said etc, whenever she'd had to pass them on the lane without me. ...'d be in a worried, harrassed state quite genuinely, but have a mysterious bulge in my pants too as I obsessively queried her!One day when we went past, the youths were playing with a plastic ball that they were throwing to each other in the Den as we walked up the lane. Three of the girls were walking up behind us, having been to the shop for. .. is this really what you’re writing? Like, sex stuff?”I don’t want to leave her hanging here but I should explain. Of course I’m writing the next Great American Novel. Who isn’t? But honestly, a lot of times when I’m moving the pencil what comes out isn’t greatness or even novelness. We’re taught to honor the process: a writer writes; don’t block the flow even if it’s just going down the drain. So between gouts of epic prose I’ll often fill the page with lesser stuff. Like a boxer in the gym,. More

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