The Secret To Editing Your Work Is

I Never Attended A Creative Writing Class In My Life. I Have A Horror Of Them.

This Because It Is Never Really Very Cold In England. It Is Drizzly, And The Wind Will Blow; Hail Happens, And There Is A Breed Of Tuesday In January In Which Time Creeps And No Light Comes And The Air Is Full Of Water And Nobody Really Loves Anybody, But Still A Decent Jumper And A Waxen Jacket Lined With Wool Is Sufficient For Every Weather England's Got To Give.

The Future's Another Country, Man... And I Still Ain't Got A Passport.

I'm A Writer Who Never Writes About Sex. It's So Far From My Own Fictional World.

It Was In The Air, Or So It Seemed To Kiki, This Hatred Of Women And Their Bodies- It Seeped In With Every Draught In The House; People Brought It Home On Their Shoes, They Breathed It In Off Their Newspapers. There Was No Way To Control It.