Between 1975 and 1980 I worked in a large British publishing house. It was an eye-opening experience.
So for the next 35 years I told everyone, especially fellow journalists, that only narcissists write books. Then last year I discarded my own advice and, in a fit of vulgar self-admiration, wrote a book myself.
This too was a revealing experience. When the reviews came in – mostly glowing, I should add – I realised that I need not have written 90,000 words. Around 10,000 would have done because – or so it seemed to me – people read only about a tenth of
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