One of the great privileges of being a writer is how much people are willing to share with you.
Whether it's discussing a subject they know about, or details of their lives, I've always been surprised how forthcoming they can be.
Take this example -
I was sitting in a pub this last week, as I do, staring into space, as I do alot, thinking about something, as I do alot alot, when an older couple politely wandered over for a chat.
I sensed they had something to share, and the lady produced an iPhone, deftly manipulated it with all the skill of a teenager, and showed me this -
My capturing of the image isn't great, but it's their wedding day from back in 1959.
They'd just managed to have some slides (yes, slides) of the day transferred onto their phone, and were so delighted they were positively glowing.
They knew I was a writer, which apparently equated with being "one of those people who think about life and then capture it in words" (quite an accolade, I thought) and so wanted to share their memories.
We had a lovely chat about their big day, they left with a lovely lightness of step, and I was left with a warming smile.
They even gave me permission to use the photo on this "new fangled electronic internet thing", an excellent phrase which made me wonder if perhaps they should have been the writers.
It was a beautiful, and unexpected moment. And all because I have the honour of working with words.
Which is just one of those times, far from the frustrations of struggling with a character, plot, or setting etc etc, that just make it all so very worthwhile.