‘I wonder how you’re going to feel
When you find out that I wrote this
Instead of you’.
I have been dealing with having readers for the first time, in the formal sense, as a few people have read Foucault’s Daughter.
And, as is to be expected, most of those few are writers too.
When writers read other writers words, something happens.
I don’t even think I need to say what it is.
We can feel it in the air, can’t we?
I sometimes think I could pull it out of the sky and eat that ‘something’.
You have read me now.
I got to you, didn’t I?