Reflections of a working writer and reader
This is all a novelist needs, nothing exact or precise, but a configuration, something distant that can be mulled over, guessed at, dreamed about, imagined, a set of shadowy relations the writer can begin to put substance on, changing details, adding shape, but using always something, often from years back, that had captured the imagination, or mattered somehow to the hidden self, however fleetingly or mysteriously. Colm Toibin
Today and tomorrow I’m in Manchester, at Do You Write Under Your Own Name, the blog of Martin Edwards, author of Dancing for the Hangman.
Martin has been interrogating me about the writing of Winged with Death for the last week or so.
Why not come over and see what’s happening?
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