The snow in Amsterdam
I’ve hit a strange crossroads. Part of me wants to write something new, but the stuff I’m churning out feels like a series of detached scenes. The narrative drive isn’t there. I have a notion where I want to take it, but I’m still getting to know the characters.
A short break in France
What a close-to-perfect week the Fanning clan had in a remote French farmhouse, miles from the nearest shops with no Internet, no phones and no English language TV – we watched the French version of Wheel of Fortune twice and didn’t quite get why a small white dog was part of the proceedings.
It’s grim up north
This month, Manchester fails to charm, silly season gets too silly, I have an old fart moan about students and the book comes slowly together.
My world is full of dead birds
Sorry for the dreadfully irregular updates, but it’s been a dark and miserable time, which I hope I’m coming out of.
