Once, a very long time ago, whilst still at school, I wrote a story in class and handed it in. My teacher read it and told me (it was different in the seventies) that it was possibly the worse thing he’d ever read. So bad infact, he felt duty bound to share it and sent me off to show it to his colleague. However, here’s the twist, his colleague read it and immediately declared it to be brilliant!
As a writer, this incident taught me many lessons. It taught me how easy it is to find out if someone is still alive, how easy it is to find out where they live, and that yes, if asked in the ‘right way’, a person can admit they were wrong.