‘Writing Chose Me’ sounds corny, but in my case it’s true. Who in their right mind would want to be a writer? It is a dangerous profession. I certainly feel nervous if my writing doesn’t go well. Is that why most of the writers I know are cursed with manic-depressive characteristics? Writing is so up and down. Writers, myself included, tend to feel depressed when their writing doesn’t flow and euphoric when it does.

In my case, I tend to feel totally euphoric by the time a drafting deadline is up, be it commissioned or self-imposed. I just don’t enjoy the actual writing process, and people who profess to love writing make me suspect that they can’t write.

Writing is a lonely vice, because unless you are collaborating with someone, and I know this sounds trite, you alone are responsible for getting the ideas in your head to fall consistently across the page / screen. William Burroughs is to be admired for building his non-linear narrative on the classic ‘Naked Lunch’, which by the way still seems avant-garde today.

Like most writers, I need strict discipline to sit in front of my computer and type from nine to five. Working during the day suits me, even though I have to cover my ears with ‘Heroes’ earplugs to block out the noise around me. Unless I am fully immersed in my work, I am very sensitive to noise, which is a nuisance as I live in central London. I always have to work with the windows closed to block out the sounds of the city. I also like to write in the early hours because it is quiet, but I find that working all night on a regular basis does not improve my balance.

I started writing in an old Remington manual, before moving on to electric and electronic typewriters. I used to puff on ‘eighty cigarettes’ in those days, spending most of my working hours desecrating my machines with so much ash from my always-lit cigarette, that they seemed to be perennially covered in pigeon shit. I was convinced that I wouldn’t be able to write another word if I quit smoking my Kools, and I was amazed at how productive I became when I finally kicked the habit in the eighties, coinciding with my first computer, an Amstrad. All my journalist friends bought one at the same time, so we were all learning to adapt to new technologies together. When my old relic finally disappeared, I graduated from Apple Macs.

I have written directly on the screen for years and I cannot imagine how I managed before I had a computer. All that Tippex was so messy and when I was writing my first novel, I used to tear the page and start over if I made a typo. But, one positive thing about working on a typewriter (aside from having no RSI), was having to rewrite entirely new drafts from scratch, which meant I’d be writing the entire novel multiple times from start to finish. I really got to know my books from the inside out, even though they reduced me to pasting plot point graphics and characters on the walls to help me remember the whole story.

The only danger I find when typing on a computer is that I tend to edit my sentence before finishing it; it is so compulsive to do it with its copy, cut and paste functions. Plus, using Word comes in handy – for example, it’s so simple to change a character’s name throughout the book in seconds, rather than having to rewrite the entire novel like you used to do in the old days.

Some writers swear to write their first draft by hand, but since I’ve been typing for decades, I can barely write my own signature, let alone write with a pencil and notepad.

I never specifically wanted to be a writer, although I have written compulsively for as long as I can remember. Although I loved English at school and produced original stories without worrying about every word (I wish I could now!), I never fantasized about trying to write for a living, despite the fact that my strange short stories were accepted by the school magazine.

I have kept a journal intermittently throughout my life, and now I have kept one religiously since 1982. It is not full of introspective nonsense, but it is a factual account of my daily life, that is, where I have been, who I have been. seen and who said what to whom, that kind of gossip.

I didn’t write my first unpublished novel until I was twenty, and like most first-time authors, it was libelous. My boyfriend at the time lived in the basement of a famous artist’s house on Powis Terrace, Notting Hill Gate. Notting Hill is now gentrified and one of the most expensive parts of London, but when I lived there it was a slum. The tabloids said that Powis Terrace was the dirtiest street in London at the time, but I didn’t realize that I was sinking my high heels into the mud because I was totally immersed in writing my book.

On those days, I would wake up in the evening and sleep at dawn, hanging out in the artist’s basement for most of my waking hours. Every dawn, just before going to bed in my little apartment across the street, I wrote down the night’s proceedings, using fictitious names for all the original characters I met in the basement. Looking back, I guess my writing effort could have been called faction. The only person I allowed to read the duration of my work in progress was my ex-boyfriend, who was intrigued to see his life barely disguised, although he was not happy with his accurate interpretation.

I find that reading, especially revisiting the classics, helps me to write a lot. Fortunately, my school had a well-stocked library, so I read “everything.” One of my favorite books in my youth was ‘Vile Bodies’ by Evelyn Waugh, which inspired me to become a gossip columnist.

When I started writing a malicious gossip column for David Bailey’s ‘Ritz Newspaper’ years later, I found the time to simultaneously write a new draft of my unpublished novel. I showed this version to some publisher and agent contacts that I had made as a prolific freelance journalist. Although I received some encouraging rejection letters at the time, I decided to put the book aside for a while.

Journalism focuses on meeting deadlines, which is very helpful when writing. If someone, let’s say, entrusts me to write something in a week, I can do it. However, when I once worked on Fleet Street as a newspaper writer, my editor reprimanded me relentlessly for over-polishing my prose. That is the luxury of being a writer. You can hone your craft by polishing and rewriting your stuff as much as you like, unlike journalism, which doesn’t allow you to wait for inspiration to grab you.

And that is another thing. I never wait for my subconscious to dictate what to type like some deluded newbies do, but I know that in order to type, I have to sit at my desk and physically tap the keys. I know from experience that writing, like most artistic gifts, is actually ninety percent perspiration and ten percent gift. It is useless to have talent if you are not prepared to work and develop it. That is abusing your gift.

I rewrote ‘Frantic’, my novel several times over the years and when I learned that I had finally finished the final draft of the book, Eiworth Publishing offered to publish it, as well as ‘Crushed’, my picture book of adolescent fiction that took me little time to write.

Writing stuff for myself, but I have to make sure I work on it every day. If I don’t write something, not even for a day, I feel peculiar. That’s why I’m currently writing another novel, a script, and a collaboration on a television series, and that’s just to get started.

Copyright: 2006