Footsteps in the Snow

I have been thinking a lot about getting tattooed again.  I believe tattoos should act as a marker of important things (both of mine do exactly that).  I’m not sure what constitutes a ‘tattooable’ occasion, but when it’s the right time, you know it.

My book is out on the 4^th of June.  Two days after my 34^th birthday.  I’m ecstatic and terrified in equal measure, and I am counting down the days like a small child.  It occurred to me – gradually, from out of nowhere, like these things generally do – that this would be the perfect time for my third tattoo.

Something I’ve wanted for ages, on my writing hand.  This has crystallised into a plan, and every time I write a book (hopefully there will be more) I could add to my tattooed writing hand.  This also fulfills my ongoing objective of ‘Be More Like Jemima Kirke’.  So that’s good.

This got me thinking about a tiny piece I wrote a long time ago now.  Well, it’s only a couple of years but it feels like forever.  I re-read it and I’m still quite proud of it.  I still agree with every word I wrote, which for fickle Gemini me is rare.  To paraphrase Joni Mitchell, words are like tattoos – life is long and we are always changing, but I think if you do either one for the right reasons then you can live quite happily with anything in the end.  Even if you don’t agree with it any more, it deserves to be on your permanent record.

(You can read it here – I’m on p13.)