Writer. Musician. Father. Head chef in my house. Bradford City fan. Lovable douchébag.
I spent all of my childhood and young adult life trying to be a rockstar. I even had some limited success—I toured the world, man. I wrote songs that hit the charts. Then, whilst on tour in the USA, I got hit by a car.
A coma for three days. Mass broken bones and a severe head injury. I couldn’t play, read or write for a long time.
I’m no longer in a rock band and it took me years to accept that.
I know the Creative Arts industries are fucked, though—I grew up in the business of music. But at the risk of sounding cliché, this kind of industry is, kind of, all I know. I just wanna create things that people can enjoy. So nowadays, I call myself a writer.
Back in late 2016, it occurred to me that I had a story to tell, so I just started scribbling and it turned into the makings of a massive piece of fiction.
My novel is unfinished. It’s a labour of love and it’s doing my frickin’ head in. This year—2020—I intend to finish the first draft, scrap it, and get working well into the second draft. When I started it, I had no idea how to write. I wasn’t even aware of drafts. I am still learning. But I know the craft a little better now, and I intend to get better still.
I write whenever I can and when I can’t, I like to eat curry. Bradford Boy, remember.
At http://www.CSRobbins.com, you can keep up with what I’m getting up to with my writing, as well as anything else I think might be funny or interesting.