Of course, there were those who . . .

didn’t believe me.

In the end, that was it with Ruth – my champion – she was my champion – I told Hortense that Ruth – did I say she was my expert?

As though I had her working for me, or as though I would be, by choice, working in a team.

Hortense, however, was the sort of person who would work in a team – and be interested in positions of expertise – and it isn’t that I don’t recognise how important expertise is, but – where I was and where Ruth was – we were worlds apart.

I can’t explain all this without giving away what we were doing at that time, and I shouldn’t worry about it (I tell myself) but if I say that, it could be a means to identify.

How much identification do I want?  How much do I want to disclose about factual matters?

It is the emotional baggage I’m interested in.  A tutor said to me once that you couldn’t write the emotion, not the emotion itself.

I puzzled over that for many a long year, and it is only now that I can say – I can write some words about my emotion, and readers may relate to those, identify (there it is again) with me in that, guess at least, how I could be feeling.

Been there – people might think they had – been there.

We impart how we feel as we can, with words.

People are reminded of situations that they were in, when you use words.

But I understand also what this tutor was trying to imply; things themselves are not in the words.

Okay, I’m on both sides of the fence now.

But – when I think back, Ruth stopped acknowledging what I said – it was Ruth who changed her position – she acknowledged what I said to start off with.

It was as though she thought I was nuts – well, she did – in a way where I wasn’t actually nuts.

I was nuts, but not how Ruth saw me.

She thought she was so much the expert because she was writing a thesis on it all – the madness question.

I wasn’t mad, but she thought I was hearing voices!

I wasn’t hearing voices at all, just listening to aspects of myself – I was writing my life-story, after all . . .

Ah, the eccentricities of literary people!


What do I say?

The characters described here bear no resemblance to real people?

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