I Discovered That My Imagination Came Alive

Typically In My Novels The Narrator Tells A Story By Remembering, And The Memories Are Colored By This And Colored By That. So The Whole Universe Of The Novel Tends To Be Framed By The Narrator's Memories And Thoughts.

I Cannot Start A Story Or Chapter Without Knowing How It Ends. ... Of Course, It Rarely Ends That Way.

I Saw A New World Coming Rapidly. More Scientific, Efficient, Yes. More Cures For The Old Sicknesses. Very Good. But A Harsh, Cruel, World. And I Saw A Little Girl, Her Eyes Tightly Closed, Holding To Her Breast The Old Kind World, One That She Knew In Her Heart Could Not Remain, And She Was Holding It And Pleading, Never To Let Her Go.

I Realised, Of Course, That Other People Used These Roads; But That Night, It Seemed To Me These Dark Byways Of The Country Existed Just For The Likes Of Us, While The Big Glittering Motorways With Their Huge Signs And Super Cafes Were For Everyone Else.

It Was Like There Was Some Parallel Universe We All Vanished Off To Where We Had All This Sex.