A Scar Does Not Form On The

This Is The Forked Tongue Of Grief Again. It Whispers In One Ear: Return To What You Once Loved Best, And In The Other Ear It Whispers, Move On.

I Think, In Common With A Lot Of Novelists, I Wasn't The Most Athletic Guy At School.

I Think Bravery Means A Different Thing To Everyone.

We Cannot Choose Where To Start And Stop. Our Stories Are The Tellers Of Us.

I Write In The Novel's Afterword That Our Recent Wars "finish Not With Victory Or Defeat But With A Calendar Draw-down Date And A Presumption That We Shall Never Be Reconciled With The Enemy".