Angels come in many guises, and they tread so gently you might not recognise one until something prompts you to stop for a second and just think…
Angels come in many guises, and they tread so gently you might not recognise one until something prompts you to stop for a second and just think…
The writing world seems largely split into two: those who love editing and those who would rather have teeth removed. I’m firmly in the former camp.
Nothing strikes fear into my soul like the perennial author interview question: where do you get your ideas? The thing is I hardly ever have any; blood from a stone doesn’t even go near it. Yet, I have students who come to class recounting five cracking ideas developed on the bus into town, and still had time to write their shopping list into a witty haiku.
As if the world needs another analogy about writing a novel, I’ve got one anyway: it’s like driving the length of a country (continent?) in a car you love and are reasonably sure of but you’ve never taken it further than the nearest town before. You’ve got a map but it’s vague and whilst some of the people you meet en route wave you on, others turn you back suggesting a different road…