What’s in a name?
On 10 November 2010 by Admin‘What’s in a name?’ asked Shakespeare – ahead of the game as usual – and it’s certainly a question I’ve been asking myself a lot recently, with regard to titles. Ah yes, titles… that most difficult of things to get right. Perhaps only naming a rock band is more fraught with complexities, and potential pitfalls…
Living Your Life In Fiction
On 22 October 2010 by AdminNovels don’t always stay within their pages. The revelation, last week, that the Swedish novelist and campaigning leftwing journalist Stieg Larsson, author of the best-selling Millennium trilogy, was instrumental in training Eritrean women fighters during that country’s civil war, might have come straight from one of his own novels. Nor are Larsson’s the only works
Writing Historical Fiction
On 1 September 2010 by Admin‘I don’t like historical fiction,’ a friend said recently and, until a few years ago, I might well have agreed with him. I mean – what’s the point of setting your story in the past, when there’s so much about the present that’s worth describing? Of having to go to all the trouble of recreating
Writing about War
On 9 August 2010 by AdminI don’t know anyone whose life hasn’t been affected by war. In fact, I’d go further and say that there can hardly be anyone alive today whose existence isn’t a consequence of war. War has shaped human society for thousands of years, and it’s impossible to think of a time – our own most of
Writing about Sex
On 2 August 2010 by AdminWriting about sex is hard, as everybody knows. Unless you’re as breezily unafraid of double entendre as Kathy Lette, or as secure in the knowledge of your own literary genius as Philip Roth – whose depictions, in successive novels, of liaisons between septuagenarian men and thirty-something women, are offered without a trace of humour –
Rediscovering Undiscovered Country
On 27 July 2010 by AdminFor the past six weeks, I’ve been retyping one of my previously published novels – a task that might strike some people as entirely pointless. There’ve certainly been times when I’ve identified with the deluded hero of the Borges short story who, having transcribed Cervantes’ Don Quixote line for line, believes himself to be the