You could call me a swinging voter. If this were the seventies, that word 'swinging' might provoke a few smirks, but today probably little more than a curled lip.
I'm a swinging voter, not because I lack conviction, but because I'm not convinced that doing what I've always done is a good reason to keep doing it. So I try to think before I tick the box. Voting for one team doesn't mean the other has no value, but is its value, here and now, the best choice for this country, this state, and the people in it?
Sometimes our convictions are invisible to us. I'm a novelist, I've always been a novelist, I write fiction, that's it. I don't think about whether it's the write choice for me here and now, I keep doing it because I always have.
Recently I unearthed a cache of letters that hadn't seen the light of day for 30 or so years. They made me blink, they made me think. Here was a true-life story that begged to be told. It's not that fiction can't tell the truth, it can and does, which is why I love it. But it's not the only team of value and right here, right now I'm ticking another box. Because of that, my world is bigger.
Who says we need a passport to go places, an aeroplane to fly? Put on new glasses, tick a different box, rifle the wardrobe of your mind. Who knows, maybe you’ll find Cinderella's slipper.