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I am not sure whether to laugh or moan. I must be getting older! I’ve had some children over to the house and what captured their fascination was not the telly, or computer game, but my old typewriter. They all … Continue reading
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One of the pleasures of books is their sheer physical appeal. I love the slight ripples in exquisite papers, the smell of the ink, the pressed imagines, the leather of a binding, the embossed title, and the sound of the … Continue reading
Does it matter if I wrote this post or not? Or is it okay to have an idea, have the money to pay another writer to bash it out, and then sit back, make a few corrections and then finally … Continue reading
When a novel is finished there is always the period of mourning and loss. The character’s that you have spent so many hours with have nothing more to say to you, you’ve written countless drafts, it’s endured edit after edit, … Continue reading
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The leaves are starting to turn colour and I am suddenly full of energy. Does the weather affect your writing habits? It does mine. When it’s hot and sunny, I’m miserable and grumpy and want to do nothing more than … Continue reading
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Sometimes going back in time is a colossal mistake. I remember traipsing after my father along Charing Cross Road to various little bookshops with lead fronted windows and solid wood doors. I didn’t pay too much attention to the shop’s … Continue reading
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The old typewriter was a large part of my childhood. I made my first attempts to type on its stubby olive keys, under the watchful eye of my father. I was not aware of the emotion attached to my childish … Continue reading
A camera travels 