My hands have no feeling.
My feet up to my lower thigh is numb. My stomach and chest is icy cold. I feel so light-headed I might as well faint. I have propped up my rigid body by a peeling black-painted gate which is pricking my back.
Someone stole my blanket, and now I am as good as a chunk of ice.
When I showed the first scene of Five Wounds to some writing friends, some of them asked a question I wasn’t expecting. ‘How rich is Nan’s family? They live in a big house so why does she need to hunt for food?’
Good question!
One of the nicest things about being an author (apart from being able to go to work in your pyjamas) is being invited to talk about books in schools. I love chatting to enthusiastic pupils about all things bookish. Usually the questions I am asked are ones I can answer easily.
‘How long does it take you write a book?’
‘Where do you get your ideas from?’
‘When did you write your first book?’
But at a school last week a student asked: ‘What is your favourite book?’
Now that’s a tough one.
I’ve read so many good books, how could I possibly choose my favourite?
And what if I haven’t read my favourite book yet? Indeed, what if it hasn’t even been written?
