Monday, 4 October 2010

On angst-ridden (that's to say a good many) writers

First of all, can I say that this review of the event I did at Aspects Literary Festival is lovely - thoughtful, well-written, complimentary. If you want to read it, this is the link. It's a generous review. The only reason I include it, apart from blatant comercialism, is that it points up how angsty, precious and thin-skinned I am when it comes to reviews. Talking to other writers, I don't think I'm alone.
From this extract from the first paragraph - "Modest, affable and an engaging storyteller, it strikes you that Mike Faulkner would be a pleasant walking companion. There was nothing to blow your socks off at this lunchtime question and answer session with the man they call Strangford Lough's resident poet laureate, but then again, that was the point.." - I came away with an unreasoning urge to collar the reviewer and say, 'Whattyamean, "nothing to blow your socks off"?!'
How sad is that.
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