Watching my writing buddies give and accept positive feedback with humility and yet with a clear and firm idea of their own writing, and their voice, has been a valuable lesson.
I feared these books would be dull, staid and part of the establishment that I was so busy rebelling against; and then I read Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte.
People will ask how well sales are going, when what you want them to say is how beautiful that line on page 10 is; how they were frightened to death by the child who felt no pain.
Writing a novel feels like being an ultra-marathon runner, it's going to be a gruelling slog to reach 90,000 words and I will be unable to pause, to breathe properly, to take in the view until then.
Is writing a ruthless business? How much honesty is too much? Should you mine your own life for stories? RLF writers explore this literary quandary in 'The Splinter of Ice'.