I have a rule that I don’t post anything overtly political on my Twitter feed. If you follow my Twitter feed you’ll know it’s a rule I fail miserably to follow. You see dear reader, I’m an angry man. I’m also a happy man, a sad man and everything in between, but when it comes to politics it’s hard to be anything other than angry. And when it comes to Thatcher, I’m a child of the 80s from a Yorkshire mining town. You can probably guess I’m no fan.
But I’m not here to harp on or dance or anything else. I’ve had my own feelings I’ve vented elsewhere, but the level of my emotions on the subject surprised even me.
Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m an emotional person. I don’t mean I cry at the drop of a hat, I mean I swing from one to the other with little pushing. It’s part of me I’m thankful I have, because a writer should feel. We should care. Because if we don’t, why should our readers?
It wasn’t until I sat back and assessed my feeling this week though that I realised the novel I’m writing (working title ‘Europa’ and subject to change when something cooler occurs) is partly my venting the machinations of government and the suppression of the self. All this was going on beneath my fingertips, and I didn’t even know it.
So what I’m saying is go feel. Go experience Care for something, for anything. And most of all, be angry.