17 March 2000

Q: Dear Writer-in-residence, I want to make money out of writing. What form do you recommend that I concentrate on?

A: Ransom notes.

I'd like to be writing about life, death, art and culture, but this month's task-for-the-rent is to finish off a booklet about customer call centres in social housing organisations. Yes, creative fiction at its best. You can see how keen I am to be working on it; I'd even rather write another entry in this journal :)

It's a perpetual balancing act, trying to make space to write what you want while earning money while keeping a few shreds of integrity intact. It's usually feast or famine with me. There were those few Soap Opera Years when I had to register for VAT (a swingeing tax, for those lucky enough not have encountered it). And then there've been all the other years, when I've sometimes struggled to owe the taxman a thing.

Agh, let's not worry about money. Not on St Patrick's Day, my almost-saint's day. For I was born a lapsed Catholic and my middle name is Patrick. My big brother still calls me Paddy 'cause it was his idea to name me that, and last year I named a detective alter-ego Paddy. This year's central character is called Martin Linney, which is a reversal of my mother's maiden name. Next year's is going to be called Roy, which, with apologies to all the Roys out there, is definitely not a name I've ever aspired to. I want to stop taking pictures of almost-myself. Except, more literally. For alongside this paragraph should appear a picture of me and my view, if I've read the instructions for the digital camera properly (if all else fails, read the manual).