Category: Wordsmithing

Q&A Part 7: personal interests and advice

Peter

Question: Aside from writing, what are some of your other passions or hobbies?

P.J. Moroney: Well, I guess reading. I’ve always read a lot. These days, I read a bit of history, criticism, and the like besides fiction. I’m pretty typical, I think. Love music and movies. Follow most sports. I’m a diehard footy fan, like most Melburnians (Essendon), and cricket, and so on. Food, travel, living well – is that a hobby? I’m pretty mainstream. No odd passions or interests. I guess, whether I like it or not – and often I don’t – I follow the news and current affairs religiously and have opinions on every topic. Been like that since I was a kid.

Question: How does your interest in current affairs and history influence your writing?

P.J. Moroney: I don’t know – does it? I suppose it must. Everything you read, see and hear eventually goes into your writing, whether you know it or not. It shapes your perspective and maybe your attitude, and there’s no way that doesn’t influence your writing. But, it’s hardly explicit in me. I haven’t written anything historical. I don’t think about global events when I sit down and write. But then, knowledge of how things work – politics and relationships – is at the core of writing fiction. The more you know, the better you get at it, I would think.

I do have a project in mind that draws upon current events.

Question: What advice would you give to someone who wants to switch careers and pursue writing?

P.J. Moroney: Nothing particular. Writing is an individual thing and I think there’s probably a bit of luck in it, too. What’s true for me may not be true for others.

My so-called writing career is still pretty fresh, and there’s nothing certain about it. I’m in no position to give advice except maybe to suggest some caution. I don’t know what the stats are, but I know there’s a lot of unpublished manuscripts out there. It’s not easy, and I’d probably say the same thing my dad might have said to me if I ever asked: make sure you know what you’re doing. It’s not for everyone, and it takes more than passion. In other words, don’t jump into it without getting your work checked.

I was a terrible judge of my own work. It was essential that I got feedback. That’s still true, though it’s different now. Back then, I needed validation that I could write and that what I wrote was worth reading. Once I knew that I could attack it more confidently, though I was still years away from doing anything about it. Most writers start out doing it on the side and gradually testing the waters, and I think that’s probably the best and safest way of going about it. Once you know there’s a market interested in your writing, you can be more expansive.

That’s how it was with me, though other circumstances forced my hand to a degree.

Question: What circumstances?

P.J. Moroney: Cancer. I survived but it killed my day job.

Question: That must have had a profound on your outlook. Did it change your writing?

P.J. Moroney: It had a profound effect on everything. I’d be guessing, but I figure it may have given some depth to my writing. It certainly changed my outlook.

Question: What have you learned about publishing that you wish you knew when you started?

P.J. Moroney: I’m still learning. It’s tough. I don’t want to go into it too much because I just don’t know. All I can say is if you’re confident in your stuff, stick with it. There are fashions and trends in writing, just as in everything else, but what you bring as a writer is individual and presumably personal. Don’t be tempted to be something that you’re not. If it’s going to work, then it’s your voice that matters.

Q&A Part 6: reader engagement and psychology

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Question: How do you hope readers will feel after finishing your book?

P.J. Moroney: I have to think about that. I guess there are the obvious things. I hope they enjoy it; I hope it makes them think a little, and it would be great if they thought it was the best thing they ever read. And I hope they tell their friends about it.

But really… I hope they understand it. The plot’s not too hard to follow, but I don’t mean that. I hope they understand the characters, their motivation and background. I hope they take in the psychological aspects – there are damaged people in this book, and their decisions and actions come out of that damage. We do as we are.

This is not a straight crime thriller with a linear plot and characters acting predictably. I tried to write something true to human behaviour and the traumas that bear on it. It just so happens it’s a human drama set within a crime thriller. The format places the characters in stress, which makes the story.

Ideally, I hope readers close the book and feel as if – for that moment anyway – that they have an enlarged understanding of human nature. We’re complex beings, and that makes for great literature when you do it right.

Question: You speak of ‘psychological aspects’. How did you approach them, and what was their genesis?

P.J. Moroney: I have no approach. I don’t begin a book thinking I will write about XYZ’s psychological aspects, though I will have themes in the back of my head. I’ll know what the story is about at a high level, but it’s not until I get into the guts of writing that I begin to get into the fine details. Often, it’s something I only realise in retrospect. It’s a cliche, but writing is a journey. I learn as much from the process as someone might do reading it.

Take Kurten. Like I said, he’s damaged. He comes from a famous and respected family, but he lives in disgrace and a degree of shame, thanks to his brother. He was an idealist once with grand ambitions, but now he lived in the shadows, solitary, bitter, and an outsider to the world he once belonged to. Then this case comes along, different from all the other shit he’s been doing, and that’s the story.

Now, there are clear themes there, as well as the possibility of redemption. But he has to live it. He had to go on that journey, and me, I had to write it. You do that, and you begin to inhabit their skin a little. You see through their eyes, feel as they do, and, with a bit of luck, the story brings that authenticity. Whatever I start off writing develops with the experience of writing it and shapes the words and perspective. Because you’re feeling as they do, you begin to understand the nuance of their experience. You grow into a more sophisticated understanding, and that feeds into your writing. I hope!

Question: Where do you think that psychological understanding comes from? How much of you is in it?

P.J. Moroney: Curiosity, mainly, and a wandering, provocative mind. I reckon it’s the same for most writers. I find a lot to be fascinated about, and much of it boils down to what people do and how they act. I’m a great observer, too. That’s pretty much a reflex, and I’m glad of it – I don’t think I’d be a writer or be interested in it if I wasn’t.

I don’t know the whys and hows of it, but I think I’ve always been pretty insightful regarding people. I seem to be able to read people. I’ve always been sensitive like that and had a natural understanding of what motivates people, what they’re thinking sometimes – and why – and ultimately, their triggers. It’s never what I tried to be; it just was. I had a bit of a party trick once where I would meet someone new and, within a few hours, explain back to them who they were. It was pretty shallow, but it would amaze many of them. Sometimes, they would be quite moved. Everyone likes to be understood.

I’m not an expert. I’m certainly not a psychologist. I read a bit, but most of it is experience. As I said, Kurten isn’t me, but I take my experiences and observations, and they naturally inform the characters and story. I draw upon what I know. To that extent, it’s personal.

Question: Isn’t that sort of insight shocking to other people?

P.J. Moroney: It’s certainly surprising, but I keep it under wraps 99% of the time. I’m sure it can be uncomfortable, and I have no desire to intrude upon a person’s privacy. And it’s not infallible anyway. It’s just something.

I will say it was useful when I worked in corporate. It helped me understand why people did what they did and sometimes how I could counter it.

Question: What has been the most surprising or interesting feedback from your readers?

P.J. Moroney: For a start, let me just say I welcome feedback. I’m always curious about how readers respond to my work and what they see in it. I’m happy to be surprised, mostly. If you’re reading this, feel free to send through your feedback.

Otherwise, I get a few questions about some characterisations, nothing too surprising. I got into a conversation with an older woman about the graphical nature of the sex scene. I felt a little embarrassed, actually, but she loved it. That surprised me.

I also get feedback about Melbourne from people living abroad. I think it’s a character in the story, and it seems to be well-appreciated.

How it changes

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I was going to the drafts folder in my email and came across an email. I wrote a couple of years ago and never sent it. It describes some of the processes I go through writing and specifically address the second novel I began to write. It’s the novel I hope to finish within a few months. Here it is

The second novel I’m working on came to me pretty well, complete as a story, from whence I don’t know. I reckon a lot happens in the subconscious. It’ll publish the idea to the conscious mind when it’s ready. In my case, I woke up one morning with it in my head. I shared it with someone at work, and they said great, go for it, and that’s what I’ve been doing.

Generally, when I have a novel like this in my head, I’ll have the beginning and the end and bits and pieces in between. I’ll know what the story is about and what I want to say, but there’ll be a lot of gaps in the storyline. It’s like planning a trip from Melbourne to Sydney and knowing you’ve got to go through Upper Kumbucta West, but otherwise, you don’t know what route you’ll be taking until you’re in the car driving.

What I’ve found writing this is that while the story was clear to me, many of the underlying themes only became apparent as I began to write. I knew the headline themes and could have explained to anyone who asked this is what it’s about. But then you get into the nitty gritty, and there’s much more complexity than a sheer headline. You advance carefully, feeling your way, like walking through a minefield. Many times you retreat knowing it’s not quite right. That’s when you sit in front of your screen looking blank while your mind goes a million miles an hour. You live the moment, searching through it and clarifying details with your mind. Is this right? Or this?

You’re searching for truth, but it comes from the story, the text, and not anything you impose upon it. By now, the story has its own life. It’s your job to understand and to chart it. That sounds a bit of a toss, but that’s how it is. Quite often, I start writing thinking it’s about one thing before discovering there’s more to it than that, and my job is to listen well and get it right.

I had the experience halfway through writing this novel when I read of Homer, specifically, of Achilles, the mighty Greek warrior. As I read, I reflected on my story, seeing the parallels for the first time.

 In the Iliad, Achilles is nigh on invincible. By myth, he was held by the heel and dipped in a magical pool that made him immune to injury. He’s a proud, somewhat arrogant character, though capable of great complexity. Ultimately – beyond the pages of the Iliad, he will perish victim of his only flaw – an error to the heel left unprotected.

 But what if Achilles doesn’t perish? What if he lives on well after the sacking of Troy and the death of so many mighty characters? What if he passes into middle age, a warrior of legend but creaking, aching, and grey now? His days of might have passed. He has defeated thousands in battle, but in middle age, he has settled into an existence where he wonders what it all means. Looking back, he knows it was real but feels distant and lost, as if he is a different man. It is this he must reconcile.

 That’s what my story is, in a way, though inadvertent. It’s modernised, and instead of a warrior, the protagonist is a once great sportsman.

 I’m not far off finishing the first draft of this novel, and there will likely be a couple of rewrites before I’m happy. The point is that I started with an idea that still holds true, but I’ve found unexpected complexity as I’ve gone along. That’s not surprising, but I learn from it myself as I reappraise, reflecting on its depth and meaning.

 One thing I know is that this has a strong theme in me—we tell our own stories. I’ll post something about that another time.

Forgetting how to write

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This is what it comes to sometimes, days and sometimes weeks, when I feel as if I’ve forgotten how to write. It isn’t true, I know because I can still write other things – just not the thing I want to write.

That’s the problem when you try to spin a story out of thin air. All of it is new, all of it – some of it, anyway – is in your mind, and hopefully, you can bring it to the page. But how? What are the words? What are the right words?

It’s not something you worry about much when you’re writing well. You sit down, and it comes out, more or less. It’s never perfect the first time and not even the last go at it, but mostly, you get a true sense of what you’re trying to do and the shape of it, and if not all the words are right, then some of them are. If you’re lucky, and mostly I am, there are words here and there strung together in the proper sequence and saying what you want to say. It’s something to go on with, and you do.

But there times, as I am experiencing currently, when you feel lost. In this case, I have words on a page. I know the scene I want to write, but I’ve seemingly lost the facility. I try, again and again, trying this, trying that, the stenographer for a dull brain, all of it lifeless and none of it true.

The particular issue this time is the fundamental and needful challenge of narrative. It’s joining things together and fixing them in the earth so they become lifelike and credible.

The smart thing would be to take a break. That’s what I tell myself, but I can’t. It’s like the last clue of the crossword that’s been bugging you. It’ll come to you if you let it go, but you can’t wait. It’s not just a matter of patience. You have to conquer it. And so rather than letting it go you return to it, trying to fit different words into the allotted space, to no avail and worrying about it when you should be sleeping. And going at it again when you wake, thinking your nocturnal prognostications might be onto something – but they’re not.

I haven’t forgotten how to write. I’ve forgotten how to be me. I’ve done it before. Its there. It will come again. Until then – let’s try something different…

Q&A part 5: about the novel

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Question: Without giving too much away, what can readers expect from your debut novel?

P.J. Moroney: Hopefully an entertaining read. I think the protagonist is complex and interesting. The themes are pretty universal. And I think it has some good twists and surprises, though I’m not much of a judge of that. I’m told that’s the case.

I set out to write a book I’d like to read, but I hardly considered the audience when I wrote it. It makes the question a bit hard to answer. Readers will get their own thing out of it, hopefully something good – but, at the end of the day, it’s their business. And while I hope people enjoy it and I sell a million copies, I’m not too fussed.

I’ve heard a lot of writers say they write for themselves. I think I have, anyway. But it’s true for me, and think it must always be the case for any attempt at serious literature. It’s different if you’re setting out to write a commercial best-seller, a potboiler or whatever. Fair enough if you do your research to write what people want to read. I’d love to write a bestseller, but the reason I write is not to be acclaimed or make a million dollars or even to be read – though I hope all that happens. I write because I feel like I have something I have to say. Something I have to get out. My process is just the opposite of deliberately writing a popular novel.

I know it sounds a bit pretentious. And I note that I’ve inferred my book is serious literature. It isn’t, though it’s got things in it. It’s a detective novel. It has crime and murders, and it’s even got porn. I think it’s well-written. Some of the dialogue is snappy – it was fun to write it. And it’s got a big sex scene for those easily titillated. That was funny to write also.

Question: The sex scene is quite substantial. Do you have a process when writing sex scenes?

P.J. Moroney: Nothing special. These days, I’m going by memory. I’ve read some pretty ordinary sex scenes in the past and reckon the mistake they make is being too literal. In my experience, anyway, sex is more a series of impressions and sensations, and that’s how I write it. Sex isn’t cerebral; it’s in the body and the sense of self, merging and embracing and shifting, and the sensations, sudden sometimes, and sometimes slow. A build-up that includes anticipation and imagination. The best sex is always a bit of a trip. That’s how I write it. I don’t plan it. I let it happen, like the real thing – impressionistic, edgy, raw, a bit sloppy, but a lot of fun.

Question: Are any characters or events in your book inspired by real-life experiences or people?

P.J. Moroney: Everyone always wants to know this. Most of this story came into being 20 years ago. If there was anyone in mind, they’re long forgotten. Having said that, you borrow people from time to time in your writing. There’s never a complete person, but you might take aspects – the way someone talks or walks, little idiosyncrasies and tics here and there you re-purpose. Sometimes, when writing, I’ll be reminded of someone I know or have met, but it’s that way around. It’s possible they’ve been in my subconscious all this time and come out on the page, but you’d have to ask my Id.

There’s one character in the book who had the physical description of someone I used to work with, though the personality is very different. Sometimes, I imagine faces, and I’ll see someone and think, yep, that’s so and so. For the record, Kurten isn’t me.

As for events? I can’t think of any. Places a bit. Melbourne plays a big role in this story. There’s a pub I’ve described, as well as a bar that fits pretty well with the generic Melbourne bar vibe. There’s Brunswick Street, trams, footy, and so on. But that’s pretty standard.

Question: Was it a deliberate decision to make Melbourne such a character in this story?

P.J. Moroney: Yes. I’m a die-hard Melburnian. Love the place and know it back to front. It’s got a broody face that suited the story well, plus I wanted to show it off a bit. I had a European reader tell me very enthusiastically that they felt like they were walking the streets of Melbourne reading it. I liked that.

Getting into shape

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I’m midway through the second draft of my novel, Unknown to God. I first began writing this several years ago and had completed the first draft before I was diagnosed with cancer. That hit my writing for six; it was over a year before I began on the second draft.

The sole novel I’ve published went through about five drafts. By the end, I was tweaking elements of it, trying to make it perfect. The heavy lifting and significant changes happened in the first few drafts.

I’m not an expert on this – I’m making it up as I go along – but I’ve got a fair idea of the editing process as it applies to me.

The first draft is pretty much a mind dump. You have an idea that’s ticking in your head like a bomb, and, in my case anyway, I’m dead keen to get it on paper before it goes off and there’s nothing left. Throughout this, I’m afraid the inspiration will leave me before I finish. I don’t know why. It’s almost as if I fear a sudden onset of amnesia. So, I’m not fussed over much with the first draft, and it can be pretty messy, and I’m mighty relieved once I’ve got it done.

I’ll take a break from it after that. Working so intensively it can get in your head in an unhealthy way. When that happens, it’s hard to think objectively about it, which is what you need. I take a few months off from it and work on something else. In the background, a part of my mind is still labouring on it, considering the changes I need to make. By the time I get to it again, it’s pretty ripe.

The second draft is about cleaning up the obvious crap and refining it into something more agile and readable. The story remains, but I’ll adjust the plot here and there, taking things out and maybe adding some in. I’ll look at the language and consider the motivations more deeply. There are more drafts to come, so it’s not about making it perfect but getting the shape of it right.

That’s my main focus, really. I may change things up in later drafts, but 95% of the story should be there after the second draft. I want to come to the next draft and know what it’s about without having to do all the thinking again. I can get stuck doing that, but it’s important.

The later drafts are about further refining it. It’s a bit like an athlete training for a big event. He starts fat and unfit but motivated, and as he goes along, he settles on a training plan, losing the fat and adjusting the program as he gets fitter and stronger, fine-tuning it as he closes on his goal. One day, he’s ready. That’s when I hope the book is ready, too – though it never is, really.

That’s where I’m at, midway through the second draft, and it’s been torturous. That’s partly because I got so busy with other things I couldn’t get a good routine going. In my experience, you need a pattern of work to get in the zone properly. When that happens, your mind remains fertile and productive so that when you return to the page, there’s plenty of stuff to go on with. But, up to a couple of months ago, I failed to get a work pattern going, and the writing came hard.

For the last little while, it’s been going well, but then I got stuck again. I didn’t know the right ‘shape’ this time. When that happens, I stare into space a lot, trying to figure it out. I want to get inside the story so the way forward becomes organic and natural. But it’s not always as obvious as that.

Sometimes, I’ll hook something I’ve written out to someone for feedback. What do you think? Does this work? How about x and y? It’s so choked in your mind you feel you can’t see clearly for yourself.

I reckon I must have rewritten this chapter five or six times. I’m tempted to go on to the next chapter sometimes and return to it later, but that doesn’t work. To start with, one chapter informs the next. It’s like trying to build a house without all the framework. And I’m pigheaded, too. I get so pissed with it I won’t move on until I’ve got it beat. I’ve always been like that.

It’s important though. It’s got to be authentic and move the story in the right direction. If I get the shape right now, it’s easier the next time. (By shape, I mean the basic plot and events of the chapter, the pacing and balance and, most importantly, the motivations that influence behaviour and action. It has to feel legit and make sense in the overall context.) If I get to the third draft without getting it right, I might find the story forks in a different direction from what I thought.

Finally, I’m nearing the end of the chapter and am satisfied with it – I think. It has the right balance now, which often equates to less is more. There’s been a lot of trial and error, a bit of experimentation, and everything short of mind-altering drugs. In the end, it’s a tried and true method that seems to have worked. I’ll write about that another day, but basically, it’s using the greats to inspire you to look at things differently.

Q&A part 4: challenges and triumphs

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Question: What have been some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced in your writing career?

P. J. Moroney: Most of it’s a challenge. No one does it to get rich, though that’d be nice. You do it for love. You do it because you must. You do it because that’s who you are. It’s all a challenge, but most things worthwhile are.

But, yeah, that’s not the answer you want. Well, consider this. I’ve been writing since I was about 17. I figured it was something I wanted to do seriously from about my early twenties. I’ve been writing in all the years since and dreaming about it. I have a bagful of old notebooks with scratchings from when I was just a kid. There’s a hard drive full of stories and fragments and so on. All of that, and I’ve only just now finally got something published. You could say just persisting all that time is a challenge. I deserve a medal, and most writers do.

I guess the biggest challenge is mental. To keep going takes a fair bit of stubborn belief. You have to believe that you have something worth saying and something that people might want to hear or read. I don’t know what kept me going. Some of my early writing was awful, and if I knew it then I might not have gone on. Good thing I didn’t. But that’s the thing you have to deal with: doubt and discouragement.

I always felt the need to express myself by writing. It was like I had so much going on that I had to get it out somehow, and writing seemed natural to me. It was a way of interpreting and understanding things. What are stories but parables? Over time, you get better at it. You see and think with more clarity, and the words come more precisely. I always read a lot and loved it – loved the language as much as anything. I had things I needed to say, but I wanted to say them stylishly, too. So, you keep at it.

I’m half amazed that I published anything. It didn’t look good a while back, but I always said I would do it. Now it’s done. So, yeah, the biggest challenge is believing in yourself and staying the course.

Question: You have done it, and congratulations – but now you have, you must plan to publish more now.

P. J. Moroney: You betcha.

Question: Are stories only really parables?

P. J. Moroney: Maybe they’re a bit more than that, but not a lot in my book. Depends on the sort of writer you are, I guess. You hope your writing is entertaining and enjoyable to read, but you’re saying something, aren’t you, or showing it? And instead of saying it straight out, you couch it in the form of a story that people can sympathise with and understand without having to process it too much. It’s the old adage, show, not tell.

But that’s not true of every writer. It is for me.

Question: Can you share a particularly rewarding moment in your writing journey?

P. J. Moroney: My first interview? Maybe I do have something worth hearing.

But really, it’s probably being published, though it fades fast. It’s definitely a milestone and very satisfying, but once it’s done, it’s done. You’ve worked on it so hard for so long that it’s great when it pays off – that’s the point, isn’t it? – but then it’s finished and in the past, and you’re onto the next one. I find I live very much in the moment when I’m writing.

But I reckon I’ll be pretty pleased when they make a movie out of my book.

Q&A part 3: the creative process

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Question: Could you describe your typical writing day?

P. J. Moroney: There isn’t one.

I used to read about the habits of great writers and wonder what would work for me. Some of them got up bright and early and wrote till lunchtime and took the rest of the day off. Others were the opposite. I reckon at least one wrote standing up. I think Henry James dictated his novels.

I haven’t had the luxury of a routine. I was a working man, so I wrote when I could, which was mostly on the weekend. I think, in general, I write more in the afternoon than in the morning. I need to get into the day first. I feel I write better in the winter than in the summer, but that’s probably my imagination. I’m pretty disciplined, considering.

Early days, I wrote everything long hand. Eventually, I began to write using my PC, and I still do that, but do a lot of writing on my iPad now, too, away from my desk. Occasionally, I’ll jot a thought or an idea or a scrap of dialogue in a notebook or one of the apps on my phone. When the words come harder, I try to change things up and might head out to the garden or a local cafe with a notebook and a pen.

Things might change when I get rich and famous.

Question: How do you approach the development of your characters?

P. J. Moroney: I don’t know the answer to that. I don’t think I have an approach. As for development, it’s all in my head.

Most of it’s in my head. I’m not one of those writers who use cue cards or who do a lot of research. Character development is pretty organic – they’re just there on the page, and they grow from that.

It’s not something I’ve ever thought about much, maybe because it’s always seemed so natural. I guess I have an idea of the major characters when I start something, but most of their growth is spontaneous, and the minor characters sprout into being along the way. Character informs action, but I like to let it flow.

There are times when I get stuck – when it doesn’t come so naturally. I expect that. People are complex, and even if these characters are my creation, I want them to be as authentic as possible – that is, think and act in ways that are true to the person. Sometimes, I will create characters that vary from my personal experience of life, and so I have to reach to make them authentic. It can be hard to get the nuance right and true to personality. Occasionally, I’ll ask someone better placed to review what I’ve written to get their perspective. Otherwise, in those cases, I spend a lot of time trying to inhabit their character to see and act through their eyes.

The rest of the time, it just happens. You get to know these guys so well that it becomes second nature as if you’re spirit writing for them. You put them in the room and let them perform. The starting point for me is understanding what they look like, and from that, everything flows – their tics and idiosyncrasies, how they talk, what they say, their attitude to life and their flaws, and all the rest of it.

Question: Do you ever base your characters on real people?

P. J. Moroney: Not really. Not completely, anyway.

Of course, what I know of human nature and people comes from interacting with characters every day of my life. It’s natural that you’ll pick up things and use them along the way, mostly without being aware of it. How someone walks, say, or the verbal tics someone might have, as well as character traits, and so on, but it’s all pretty anonymous.

Occasionally, I will take the look of someone and use them, extrapolating from that into character and history – a different person altogether.

Back in the day, when I got pissed off with someone, I would sometimes think I’ll fix them up someday by using them as a nasty character in one of my stories, but I’ve never done that. There is no character I’ve written that is even 50% of anyone I know. Most of them are organic creations but often around the seed of a trait or attitude or look. They’re born in my mind, but they come to life on the page. I think of them as real people once they’re written.

No rest for the wicked

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A couple of weeks ago, I finished writing my second novel. I thought I might finish it sooner, but the closer I got to it, the further it seemed to get away from me.

I don’t know how it is for others, but I feel incomplete until I’ve put that final word on (virtual) paper. It’s a funny thing to explain, but until then, you’ve got all these words in you and a vision of something, and you feel as if you’re racing against time to get it out there, lest you get hit by a truck – or, more scarily, the inspiration, the vision, disappears. It feels like a kind of magic, and that’s great, but it’s scary, too, and until you get it all in the bottle, there’s no rest.

The sense of relief – and release – once you’ve got it on the page is immense. You type the final full stop, sit back in your chair, and think, “Phew, I did it.”

It’s a fleeting emotion because, almost immediately, you’re aware of all the flaws in the manuscript. By the time you’ve got to the end of writing a book, you generally know the things you should have done differently and need to change, on top of which you have a sneaking suspicion that it might all be crap anyway. You think you’ve finished, but you know there’s a lot more work to do – but at least now there’s a version outside your head.

Finishing a book is tough. I’ve only written the two, so I’m not sure I can apply the term ‘generally’ yet – but, so far, I know the ending well before I get to it. I may even know how to approach it, what the tone should be, and so on – I did in the first, not in the second.

With this book just finished, I fluffed around, uncertain how to get from where I was to where I needed to get. There are many different ways to write the same scenes, and when you consider the scenes are apt to variation, there’s a lot to figure out. That’s why it took me longer than I hoped to get it finished. I couldn’t get it right and spent a lot of time staring off into the middle distance. I’d ask myself: what does it mean? What am I trying to say? What is he thinking? She? How would they react?

All of that is accentuated by the fact that nothing comes after this. There’s a full stop at the end of this, which means it has to make complete sense in itself and that all the myriad loose ends need to be addressed – if not tied up – in the few pages remaining to you.

But anyway – I did it. And it’ll do until I come to the second draft.

For now, it goes in the bottom drawer. I’ll clear my head of it, and when I get around to it again, I’ll approach it with fresh eyes. More of that later.