Why My Dentist Thinks I Should Write a Memoir
As we inch towards the end of the year — the time when we realise the bathroom scales aren’t faulty after all — we tend to look back. Lately, several people have suggested I should write my autobiography. This has come from a surprising range of sources: readers of my new novel My Lie, Your Lie, friends, colleagues, and — more worryingly — my retired dentist and a Canadian skateboarder. When those two align, one must take notice. Part of me winces at the thought: am I really that man at the dinner party? The one dispensing anecdotes while everyone else eyes the vol-au-vents? But perhaps they have a point. I’ve now written 15000 of my South Yorkshire childhood: adopted, realising I was gay, wrestling with school, and balancing intellectual curiosity with a burgeoning sexual desire — all while my parents ran a bustling village shop full of characters who would give Alan Bennett palpitations. I’m hoping it might be a decent read. It’s now out with agents (if you know a good one, do sh...