My single-line sentence raised questions. Who was the woman? Why was she vulnerable to an affair? Who did she have it with? Why did she end it? Why did the lover blackmail her?
Plans so detailed as to be half a book in themselves. Finishing off each day with a paragraph in capitals of What I Am Going To Write Next. Rehearsing the next section in my head as I walk the dog.
Between my laptop and a thriving aloe vera plant is my hand-drawn map of the world of my current novel; I have to control that space before I can know how the story will unfold there.
Wendy Moore speaks with Catherine O’Flynn about the loss of diversity and career opportunities in journalism, historical characters who demand to be written about, and her motivation to find parallels between the past and the present.
Writing is a craft, not some divine gift, and the thing about crafts is the more you do them the better you get at them; so if you want to call yourself a professional writer... you really have to put the hours in.
How fantastic it would be for the writer to be granted an impossible insider's view; to hitch a ride on the tailcoat of her words and hear her reader's synapses crackle.
Trying to please is like trying to paint your raft a colour that someone on shore you haven't met yet might like; it's your raft, and you don't know when you'll get to that shore or who you'll meet.
One word after another, writing is walking; the journey completes itself. Through the labyrinth, one word after another. Just write the next word.