Cynan Jones – Why I Write
I grew up in an extraordinary place and, fuelled by books, possibility seemed stitched-in just below the surface of the…
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I grew up in an extraordinary place and, fuelled by books, possibility seemed stitched-in just below the surface of the…
Good work needs to be put on the back boiler for five or six years or more. Material accumulates, is…
Spelling is definitely not Pooh’s forte, nor was it mine at four, nor at fourteen, nor at forty. Indeed, in…
I can usually hold the first few words or line for an hour or two, but that’s all. Although I…
Kafka’s world was pitiless, full of humiliation and defeat, of inability to read the world outside, to move outside his…
By using words I can create the illusion of having power, and this sensation is an addictive substance. We are…
There are many parallels between my early love of acting and my love of writing. Early drafts are rather like…
I remember writing my fifth novel with four children under five, between three-hour breastfeeds, lecturing and marking papers while they…
As young Pip scurried across the grey, shadowy marshes, trees leaning over and reaching for him; suddenly it seemed colder…
Beyond the satisfaction of recording your life for posterity is the cathartic joy of pouring out your unhappiness. Nothing is…
You are in love with the idea of being a novelist. It didn’t occur to you that you couldn’t do…
We are living in the midst of the greatest scientific efflorescence in history, but most of it does not percolate…