Although David is not particularly outgoing, he has friends, belongs to a walking club and teaches a couple of nights a week on one of the local WEA courses.

He’s a little camp but has never come out with his family and they think, maybe he’s gay, maybe he isn’t. It doesn’t seem to matter.

But he told Fiona (that’s my neighbour) on a recent visit, about an older lady in his street who asked him, obviously concerned, in the course of a conversation, “What do you do for love?”

*

Spain is hoping to recognise its authoritarian past officially. After months of haggling, and fierce opposition from conservatives, the ruling Socialists have introduced a bill that condemns Franco’s dictatorship and honours his victims.

The Law of Historic Memory condemns Franco’s actions during the civil war , and his 40-year dictatorship. The bill declares arbitrary sentences handed down by military courts set up by Franco “unjust” and “illegitimate”. This will enable victims or their families to seek redress through the courts for executions, exile and persecution never before challenged.

The law was stalled for months, and might have died had the government not made concessions to win majority support at the last moment. Another week, and it would have run out of parliamentary time.

*

A global study, reported in The New York Times, of abortion rates indicates that those requiring a termination will find a way of doing it whether abortion is legal or not. In countries where it is illegal the abortion rate is almost the same as in countries where the practice is carried out within the law. But complications and the death rate begin to soar when it is made illegal.

The Bush administration’s multibillion-dollar campaign against H.I.V./AIDS in Africa has directed money to programs that promote abstinence before marriage, and to condoms only as a last resort. It has prohibited the use of American money to support overseas family planning groups that provide abortions or promote abortion as a method of family planning.

Therefore he no more troubled the pool of silence
But put on mask and cloak,
Strung a guitar
And moved among the folk.
Dancing they cried,
‘Ah, how our sober islands
Are gay again, since this blind lyrical tramp
Invaded the Fair!’

Under the last dead lamp
When all the dancers and masks had gone inside
His cold stare
Returned to its true task, interrogation of silence.

Sometimes an entire poem, like this one, The Poet by George Mackay Brown, will find its way into the notebook. Silence is my current obsession and the novel I’m intending to write will be, at least partially, about silence.

I have an image of penitents through the ages, people from all races and countries and faiths, stretching their hands to the heavens, praying for solace for themselves and their kind, for an end to war and for peace, understanding or compassion; for an answer to suffering of the earth.

And over and over again, in return to these endless pleadings, there comes only silence.

These things are even more true when they happen in the middle of the night. For then, if you forgot to bring the notebook to bed with you, you have to get out of bed, go downstairs, switch on the light, find the notebook and get whatever it was came to you into the notebook. OK, there’s a slim chance if you don’t do this you’ll still remember it in the morning, but do you want to take a chance like that?

This is from my notebook:

A teacher in the local arts college told me about asking her new intake of students what were the three best and worst things in the world. One of the young guys told her:

The best three things in the world: cakes, my girlfriend, and television.

And the worst three: death, sprouts, and opera.

You see? Without the notebook I could have lost that.

Each story begins for me with an initial premise; a body found on the border, a born again ex-con, a gold mine in the Donegal hills. The premise will float about in my head for a while, during which time I build the layers around it; the main crime, a connected crime and so on. Then I consider the characters involved, try to see links between them or interesting places for them to go. Sometimes, I tease out plot points, or lines of dialogue whilst cutting the grass or driving to work, which I’ll jot down on the back of envelopes, bills, receipts in my pocket. Before I start writing properly, I gather all these scraps together in a notebook and draw up a general plan, a few lines per chapter, for the first third to half of the book, with a summary of the second half and ending. As I write the first section of the book, I revise as necessary and re-plan a little. I tend to write about 1000 words per day, when I can. I seem to hit a natural pause around a third of the way through a book, where I stop for a week or two, take stock of what has happened so far, and get fired up for the next section. Often the story will have gone in an unexpected direction, which makes it all the more interesting for me to write, but which requires some reworking of plot points. I tend to revise slightly as I’m going along (especially the first few chapters), then read and revise several times after the first draft is finished.

Brian McGilloway is the author of Borderlands. His website is called Brian McGilloway.com

For me the creation of a text begins with a bloodbath and usually ends in a dazed, resentful silence.

Texts are merely the literal expression of the ideas we generate. My head is usually full of ideas, of wild notions and fantastic tales I am desperate to broadcast to the outside world. I get these ideas anywhere, often when I am half way through my hour-long drive into work, but mostly when I am about to fall asleep – much to the exasperation of my long-suffering wife.

When inspiration strikes at night I usually lie in bed tossing and turning for several hours as I wrestle with my latest brilliant insight. I don’t know how other peoples’ brains work but mine is almost entirely verbal. I begin to form protean sentences as I develop the new idea. I’m constantly re-writing in my head which means continually going back to the beginning and re-formulating the unborn text. If the idea takes off I quickly begin to get excited, frequently pulling the sheets off the bed or driving through red lights in my distracted state. If the idea is really amusing I’ll frequently suffer hysterics, forcing me to pull over into a lay-by gasping for breath, or stuff a pillow into my mouth to stifle the convulsive laughter. At times like those there is nothing more exhilarating than surfing the tidal wave of my own genius..

When I eventually get into work or, conversely, wake up in the morning I am exhausted. Unfortunately so is the idea. Invariably I have worried it to death. Ferociously strangled it at birth. What seemed so amusing or original such a short time before, in the cold light of day, now seems stale and vapid. There is infant blood on my hands as I wearily inter yet another half-assed notion deep within the dark recesses of my brain.

I nearly added this piece to the graveyard until I thought you might like to hear what it feels like to be suffering from writer’s block.

Bill Liversidge is the author of A Half Life of One; he blogs at View From The Pundy House.

Far too much mystique surrounds the Writer, as if she (in my case) were some sort of demigod who, with the proper offerings, can be induced to hand down a Sacred Text. In fact, it’s all very simple, a process that anyone with an IQ of 90, a mother tongue, and access to one of the fine how-to books on writing can manage with a little effort. Personally I favour John Scribbleman’s Twelve Steps to the Pulitzer Prize: How to Write a Novel in Six Months or Less. I always pick one of the basic plots he describes and print its pithy label in capital letters on the whiteboard mounted on my study wall. To avoid boredom, it’s best to vary your choice from novel to novel, though if you’re prolific there will eventually be repeats. Not to worry, there’s an entire chapter devoted to this very problem. Now I add a succinct statement of the theme in twenty words or less, but preferably under ten. Remember the golden rule of writing: less is more. I also like to set down the key event and no more than two or three other major scenes (a chase and a seduction are always serviceable). These notes will remain in full view till the novel is finished. Writers need to be reminded of what their work is about, since they have a decided habit of digressing. Too much imagination is harmful; counter-productive.

Next I make a list of characters, choosing one as the protagonist. It doesn’t actually matter which one, but it’s a good idea to be clear from the start whether he will lose his job, his wife, his children, and his silver Merc S 600 at the end of the novel, or she will murder her best friend. If I have any difficulty deciding, I write down each name on a separate index card – check out those terrific fluorescent-coloured ones – shuffle briskly, and select a card (eyes closed, no cheating now). Then I sketch out appearance, personality, and backstory, each bio on a different sheet of paper. Gel pens are great for colour-coding, and I like red and orange for nasty character traits – dishonesty, explosive temper, a secret indulgence in child porn, nose-picking, that sort of thing – and blue tones for family history, but you can work out your own system.

Since everyone wants plot-driven novels, the next stage involves writing a detailed outline of everything that is going to happen, the more action the better: reader interest! film options! I always have a large stack of poster paper available for this purpose, which is cheaper if bought in quantity. Mapping in colour is such fun, not to mention very impressive to the eye when you give an interview in your study or film one of those book trailers. (Also be sure to display large stacks of books and closely scribbled sheets of paper, some crumbled up on the floor, a few fetish objects like a desiccated finger – but claim it’s Poe’s, no one will believe you if you say Shakespeare – or stones from Chesil Beach, and enough general disorder to remind critics and potential readers of your Diligence and Creativity.) However, some authors prefer those perky little post-its, because you can move them around easily. In fact, when in doubt you can remove them all, put them in a sack, and shake – voilà, an instant second draft.

Now I’m ready to write. I don my granddad’s paisley waistcoat for luck, make a pot of unsweetened green tea for concentration, and turn on my computer. Chapter One, I type.

I wait for that sweet rush of words.

And wait.

Three weeks later I erase the bilge on the whiteboard, tear up all the sheets of paper, and begin again, one sentence at a time. No idea where I’m headed, and only the faintest where I’ve been. Once I’ve finished, this first draft becomes my outline. I lay the MS away for 3-6 months, take a break from writing by learning something completely new and different – this time round it’ll be algebraic topology or crewel embroidery – and only then am I ready to tackle my first major rewrite.

Not very efficient, but it’s the only way I can do it. However, I haven’t given up hope that one day it will get easier.

L. Lee Lowe is a writer who blogs at Lowebrow. Her YA fantasy novel Mortal Ghost can be read online.