You take your Mac to tapas bars

1. You start a diary every year which peters out by February; ditto holiday journals which end once you leave the airport and things get interesting.
2. You want to write a brilliant book and make loads of money in that order.
3. You spend at least an hour analysing the movie and why the ending didn’t quite work in the cinema bar while your friend says, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It was okay.”
4. If you see text you have to read it, even if it’s the cereal box or someone else’s mail (or diary – be warned – but then I also look in bathroom cupboards…)
5. You used to put characters into your GCSE French homework (I had Monsieur Jean-Paul Satre, le boulanger)
6. You read Hilary Mantell/Alice Walker/Raymond Chandler/Isabel Allende and wish you could write like them (and you think you never will so you don’t even try).
7. When your friend/workmate/man at party tells you that their auntie died in a freak ballooning accident, you say, “Wow! Great story” (you then get cross because Ian McEwan used it in Enduring Love.)
8. You started writing a book when you were in junior school (mine was that seminal work The Little Ducklings Go On Holiday and it was in infants school but I was precocious).
9. You’ve experimented with pseudonyms– you know, name of your first pet plus street you grew up in (mine’s Boots Brewster which will be OK if I go in for boys’ action yarns; most people sound like porn stars which is probably why Mary Ann Evans opted for George Eliot).
10. You were asked to leave the local writers’ circle because you refused to say everyone was really good and used some lovely images (just me again?)
Ardella Jones