“My story is important not because it is mine, but because if I tell it anything like right, the chances are you will recognise that in many ways it is also yours.”
When I was much younger – ok, an angst-ridden teenager with several James Dean posters in my bedroom – I dreamed of being a writer. I didn’t put much thought into how I would actually do it – I just had that unshakeable confidence of youth that it would happen one day. This was a few years before the Internet so my vision of the writing process encompassed me sitting in some poky garret somewhere, slouched over an ancient typewriter, fuelled by copious amounts of black coffee and cigarettes.
Hence the title for this blog. Sadly I never owned an ancient typewriter, nor did I live in a poky garret (even my lodgings at uni were pretty decent by most standards) and I don’t like black coffee. I did however make it as a writer – or at least as a journalist – I do drink at least one cappuccino a day (soya milk when I’m feeling particularly virtuous) and I smoke. A fair amount (I’m too ashamed to admit how many).
A little about me – I’m a British Indian woman, living and working in the crowded, chaotic, sometimes frustrating but always captivating city that is Cairo. I’ve been a public relations consultant and a journalist and am now mainly an editor, but in my heart I’ve always been a writer first. I write about all sorts of things because I’m interested in, and curious about, just about everything. My aim is for my writing to be precise, honest, spare when necessary, lyrical if possible, and authentic – all the things I enjoy most in my fellow writers.
If you’re out there and reading this, thank you and welcome to my world.