I’m cringing at the stark difference between the real, Yorkshire characters in book one and my stuffy narrative voice. It kind of reflects me and how I feel, living here. My favourite people are totally authentic, genuine, no choice but to be themselves and no reason to be any other and then there’s me and my frantic over-thinking, second-guessing and uptight uncertainty.
I can take the car to the garage and wonder, “What are they talking about?” and, “Did I hear that right? They want it back tomorrow? It’s going to cost two big ones? What are big ones?” and never dare to ask, in case I ostracise myself for not understanding. This all weaves through the book, coming out through Zoe and through the narrative and that cringey contrast between the voices.
I can’t be the only one. It can’t be just a “me” thing. I’m banking on there being a million other people out there, who feel like that, who think like that, who can resonate. And I’m hoping they buy books.