It's Why You Create Characters: So You

He Walked Out Of The Hospital Into The Sun, Into Open Air For The First Time In Months, Out Of The Green-lit Rooms That Lay Like Glass In His Mind. He Stood There Breathing Everything In, The Hurry Of Everyone. First, He Thought, I Need Shoes With Rubber On The Bottom. I Need Gelato.

It's An Odd State To Be In, Blowing The Whistle On Your Home Country.

I Don't Have A Plan For A Story When I Sit Down To Write. I Would Get Quite Bored Carrying It Out.

Research Can Be A Big Clunker. It's Difficult To Know How You Can Make The Historical Light.

You Must Talk To Me, Caravaggio. Or Am I Just A Book? Something To Be Read, Some Creature To Be Tempted Out Of A Loch And Shot Full Of Morphine, Full Of Corridors, Lies, Loose Vegetation, Pockets Of Stones.