I Don't Have Many Friends. It's Not

My First Novel Was Turned Down By Half A Dozen Publishers. And Even After Having Published Five Or Six Books, I Wasn't Making Enough Money To Live On, And Was Beginning To Think I'd Have To Give Up The Dream Of Being A Full-time Writer.

It Seemed To Him A Very Edinburgh Thing. Welcoming, But Not Very.

At All Times, Think Like A Writer, And Keep Those Antennae Twitching - That Way, You Pick Up New Ideas.

From This Height The Sleeping City Seems Like A Child's Construction, A Model Which Has Refused To Be Constrained By Imagination. The Volcanic Plug Might Be Black Plasticine, The Castle Balanced Solidly Atop It A Skewed Rendition Of Crenellated Building Bricks. The Orange Street Lamps Are Crumpled Toffee-wrappers Glued To Lollipop Sticks.

Was It All Inevitable, John?" Reeve Was Pushing His Fingers Across The Floor Of The Cell, Seated On His Haunches. I Was Lying On The Mattress. Yes," I Said. "i Think It Was. Certainly, It's Written That Way. The End Of The Book Is There Before The Beginning's Hardly Started.