You Chose Books, I Chose Looks .

Prayers Were Held In Assembly Hall. We All Perched In Rows On Wooden Benches While Teachers Sat Up On The Platform In Armchairs, Facing Us.

A Writer Of Fiction Lives In Fear. Each New Day Demands New Ideas And He Can Never Be Sure Whether He Is Going To Come Up With Them Or Not.

But It Is Impossible To Replace A Person One Has Loved To Distraction.

When I Was 2, We Moved Into An Imposing Country Mansion 8 Miles West Of Cardiff, Wales.

Two Hours Of Writing Fiction Leaves This Writer Completely Drained. For Those Two Hours He Has Been In A Different Place With Totally Different People.