I recognised him as soon as I saw him,
the famous writer across the road,
he used to set the literary world on fire
with article, poetry and prose.
I crossed the street and approached him,
hurrying eagerly along the pavement,
wanting to exchange a few words
and tell him how much his work meant.
You used to write for the Guardian,
you’ve had articles published in Time
and I just loved your debut novel,
I could quote you line after line.
But then you seemed to disappear,
everyone wondered, where did you go?
The writer became a legend, a myth.
There’s one thing we all want to know.
Who are you writing for these days?
You don’t publish, as far as I can see.
At this he stopped and with a smile he said,
The answer is I write just for me.