Novels Arise Out Of The Shortcomings Of

History, Writing, Infect After A Time A Man's Sense Of Himself.

…my Solitude Is My Treasure, The Best Thing I Have.

What I Need To Write Well Is A Combination Of Heat, Light And Solitude.

In My Mind's Eye Shakespeare Is A Huge, Hot Sea-beast, With Fire In His Veins And Ice On His Claws And Inscrutable Eyes, Who Looks Like An Inchoate Hump Under The Encrustations Of Live Barnacle-commentaries, Limpets And Trailing Weeds.

I Did A Lot Of My Writing As Though I Was An Academic, Doing Some Piece Of Research As Perfectly As Possible.