When a relative – the same one I’d mentioned last week – messaged me yesterday through Instagram that she wanted me to suggest which of my novels she might read first, I had no choice really. I had to talk about them directly…
I’ve been deliberately reserved especially towards younger members of the family. The reason for that is simple: aside from the first book of that trilogy, Passports, which is probably the closest I’ve come to writing what might be termed borderline “young adult,” my novels are not really meant for “under-18s.”
If you are about to take your first major international journey without Mom and Dad, I suggest you don’t rely only on your iPhone and Instagram for the memories. Taking photos is now so easy. No longer are we restricted to a roll of 24 or 36 at a time.
I have lived here in England for nearly two decades. There are still times I don’t understand a “Britishism” tossed at me in conversation. Or my English Mrs. will warn me if I have just said something not normally heard here: “You’re speaking American.”
I could not resist including that happening and built an entire chapter around it. Thus, yet again, life as the stuff of novels.
Post-9/11, I’d not really wanted ever to go back. I avoided the area in the years since 2001. But – with our visiting British friends here – finally I felt it was time.
“Fiction” is almost never entirely “fictitious.” As my uncle once told me: “Fiction comes from fact, and lots of fact makes great fiction when you re-write it as fiction.” (I want that in my obituary. 😉 )
No, I haven’t absconded with the church funds. Nor have I run off with a senator’s wife. Nor have I killed a man. Nor any combination.
If history never stands still, neither does how we remember it…
More fiction writers use pen names than you as a reader may realize. I know several who do.
“It was very, very special what you did for her,” my mom declared. “She will remember it the rest of her life.”
Every page is important, but for a writer (in my humble opinion) “Page 1” is probably the scariest one.
I have learned over the years that writing “sex” is tremendously difficult. The fundamental problem is trying to put sex into words: I write such scenes over and over…
Within the guise of a lighthearted, self-interview, I explained what initially caused me in 2012 to decide to write my first novel.
I remember thinking also that I had gone to great lengths to write the women well (particularly the French women, who in our “Anglo-Saxon” literature are too often caricatured as nutcases, fiends, deviants, or “exotic”), and she had zeroed in on a man.