Fresh from replying to two very charming e-mails from people who took the trouble to write and say they had liked this or that book, I was reminded of a conversation I had with the younger daughter recently.

'Do you,' she asked, ' care very very much what people think about your work ?'

I had to think a while and sort out what I did feel before I replied and then I wondered how other writers - and indeed, painters, musicians, actors feel. No, not actors actually, they crave love and admiration, it`s in the nature of the job.

There is no doubt that it is nice, very nice indeed, to get friendly e-mails and letters from contented readers. It gives a warm glow.  But I don`t worry about the other sort, the ones from students telling me a book of mine has made their lives a misery, or from journalists who for some reason known to themselves have decided to dislike me.

No, the serious question goes deeper than that. Do we ultimately do what we do for ourselves - the job/earning-living aspect of it apart ?

And the answer is yes. The job satisfaction is my own and it is really all I want. I never think about the person at the other end, the reader, the recipient. By the time what I am writing reaches them, it is gone from me, finished and I am onto the next thing and the one after that. Do I care about bad reviews ? No, not so long as they don`t get abusive and personal. Do I care what other people think ? No. It may seem strange but I absolutely don`t - I don`t even think about it. I wish I could conduct a poll among writers - and the rest - to find out how common this is. Some writers have cared a lot - indeed, far too much. Virginia Woolf probably did - yet ultimately, she was the one she needed to satisfy  and I am not sure think she ever really did. Perhaps that is the answer. We don`t need the opinion of other people, the approval or disapproval, praise or blame, because we give both to ourselves, and rarely in equal measure.