The title of this newsletter is a provocation, to myself as much as anyone else. What exactly does it mean to write for pleasure? Am I still capable of that?

I wrote two novels in my twenties, in relatively quick succession. I moved from London, to Donegal, to Berlin, to Barcelona, to London, to Barcelona, to Bristol, moving backwards and forwards to London again. Now I find myself on the other side of publication, looking back on the past few years and thinking about where to go next. I am trying to understand what writing means to me, why it is important, and the ways in which my relationship to it has changed.

I took a break from writing, to consider these ideas, and this newsletter is a means of coming back to it. I want to engage with words again, after becoming fearful of them, and to face my own self-consciousness. I want to write for pleasure, instead of rushing to meet a deadline, promote a novel, get a job or secure a slot in a particular publication. I want to remember what drew me to writing in the first place, and find out whether that still serves me, or if I need to shape it into something new.

Thank you for joining me; I don’t know exactly where I am taking us. But someone told me that unknowingness is a good place for a writer to be in; perhaps it is a good place for anyone. It is a relief then, not to know the answer, or the shape of the question. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.