Author: Sara Crowley

A little bit more & a link

Sara Crowley6 Comments

The comment thread on my previous post is bothersome to trawl through but there’s some interesting debate going on in there. Though I was exploring my use of personal experiences for fiction, and the role that autobiography has to play, it is me saying that I won’t write one of those “small African girl in a dusty village” stories and quoting from Kuzhali Manickavel’s blog, that has created most interest.

Kuzhali has written a blog post – A Letter of Apology to the Muslim Village of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things With Legions of White Peacocks. Her comments section is also interesting and contains further links.

I have received lots of emails on the subject from people who would prefer not to make their thoughts public. I am fascinated by the silence of some I thought would have a say, and the sense that people are watching from the sidelines.

By the way – unless you agree one hundred percent with everything I say, you are clearly wrong.

A really long blog post about fiction, autobiography, cultural tourism and such like

Sara Crowley62 Comments
I’m still chewing this over so blogging about it may be premature. The other night I mentioned to writing pals that I can’t help but write from my life. That’s usual I think, although people bury themselves in their words to a greater or lesser extent, so sometimes it is obviously a fictionalised account of personal experience (Sylvia Plath) and other times the reality is almost invisible (Ted Hughes.)
I have felt lonely, awkward, happy, and sad. I have had relationships, I have children, I have been ill etc. So when my fiction has a character that feels alone I draw on my own understanding of that emotion in order to convey it. That’s what we all do, right? But what about when I, owner of sixteen pet slugs, write a story about a slug? I draw part of my story from my own experiences, and yet the slug in my story is not my slug, and the slug owner in the story is not me. The things that happen are not real. It is a made-up story. What if my fictional woman picks up a saucepan and bangs her slug to death with it? Does that mean it is something I have done. Nope. But what about her feelings? If she is feeling desperate and angry and fizzing with violence when she flattens that slug I may call upon my own knowledge of how that feels in order to portray it.
I’m not the owner of sixteen slugs. I made that up. You know what I mean though.
My twins have special needs and I have written a story about a boy with special needs. He is not based on my boys. The mum in the story is not me. The situations that arise have not happened to us, the things said and done are all fiction. I draw on my experiences though, my knowledge. I feel okay writing about this made up boy with special needs because although my work is fiction I do have experience of how it may be, and so I feel that it is ok for me to explore.
I don’t have a pet slug. If I wrote a story about a pet slug I could research it, I could read books and articles. I could go in my garden and find a slug and force myself to touch it and write about that. Or I could just make it up. I could imagine that it would feel cool, and jelly, and squishy. That would be ok. Slugs won’t read the story and feel upset that it is inaccurate and that really they feel warm and wet. But. Hmm. I won’t write about a small African girl in a dusty village. I don’t feel that is my story to tell. I am uneasy about the cultural tourism that writers and readers so often engage in. Not my bag, man.
I have had heated debates with other writers about this. We are fiction writers and we make things up. Our imagination is the key we unlock our stories with, and we have the right to imagine anything. Yeah. But.
It was suggested by one writer I discussed this with that perhaps it was because I wasn’t talented enough as a writer that I couldn’t write these types of stories. Rude. I choose not to. I am uncomfortable with taking stories that aren’t mine.
The always awesome Kuzhali Manickavel said in a recent blog post “I am not going to ask why your story is about a Muslim Village of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things where all the girls get raped and raped and raped and raped and raped and everyone speaks some foreign Muslim language which makes them sound like they all have massive brain injuries because hey, that’s just how those crazy foreigners talk, right? I am not going to ask about this because people write this kind of stuff all the time, possibly because they believe that the chances of someone calling them on their bullshit are very slim to nil. This is why so many craptastic stories about “foreigners” get published. However. I do want to know why you would say that legions of white peacocks flooded the skies each dawn and alighted on everyone’s front lawns in the Muslim Village of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things. Legions of white peacocks? LEGIONS? FRONT LAWNS? WTF, are you on drugs? Is this sci-fi? Are you on drugs?”
And I think, she has a point, no?
I suppose what I seek is authenticity, because ultimately I look for truth in fiction. I look to fiction to supply absolute truth in a way that non-fiction sometimes fails to do. And I don’t mind at all if the truth is embedded in magical realism, or laid bare, or if it rhymes, or whatever. I don’t like sentimentality though, that almost wobbling on the brink of tears luxury of voyeuristic misery. I want to recognise, empathise and believe. I revel in the joy of feeling understood and connected in some way.
So we’re back to me writing somewhat biographically but not really.
Tania Hershman just reviewed Janice Galloway’s Collected Stories over at The Short Review. She comments:
“The next point is that where many authors cast their net far and wide and write stories set in many locations – be they cities, countries or other planets – Galloway needs no such exoticism. She is curious about the domestic and mundane; she takes a microscope, peels back the skin and probes, down to the bones, the sinews, the very atoms.”
I hadn’t noticed that, I hadn’t looked. But yes, it seems that the author who interests me the most is one who writes in the way I aspire to. She rejects the exotic and examines the everyday. Her truth shines and resonates. I wonder if that’s true for all my favourite authors, and suspect there it is: the uniting thread between Plath, Galloway, Lorrie Moore, Ali Smith, A.L Kennedy, Bukowski, Dave Eggers, Douglas Coupland.
There is a wonderful quote from Lorrie Moore in response to being asked about a story “which seemed to straddle the line between fiction and nonfiction.”
“No, it didn’t straddle a line. It was fiction. It is autobiographical, but it’s not straddling a line. Things did not happen exactly that way; I re-imagined everything. And that’s what fiction does. Fiction can come from real-life events and still be fiction. It can still have that connection, that germ. It came from something that happened to you. That doesn’t mean it’s straddling a line between nonfiction and fiction. And the whole narrative strategy is obviously fictional. It’s not a nonfiction narrative strategy.”
Brilliant. (You can read the whole interview here.) I love how she sounds kinda testy and absolutely sure of herself.
Anyway, like I say, I’m still mulling. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t write whatever you feel compelled to, but I think we all strive for a unique voice, and mine sounds a lot like me. 

Waiting for the good news, not the bad

Sara Crowley5 Comments

Sending work “out there” means waiting for responses. I’m not so great at subbing. I know writers who constantly have lots of work out at one time and just send that baby straight back out the minute it comes back to them. I understand that, I just don’t do it myself.

Thing is, I choose really carefully where I want a story to go. I’m not “this must be published no matter what” I’m, “Ooh, I think my story “You say Grigio I say Gris – who knows why?” would be perfect at THAT PLACE, so I send it off, and stay hopeful, and if it comes back unwanted I feel a little sad for “You say…” and I write down the date of the rejection and any comments I got in my skull notebook, and that’s it. 
A month or so may pass and I’ll look at the story again, edit a little, and realise, “Ooh, no, THIS PLACE would be superb for my story” and so it goes.
While something is still being considered there’s a gorgeous feeling of possibility. For ages I had a really high ratio of successful subs to rejected ones. I think that’s gone now. That sucks. But that was happening when I was writing fresh words regularly. Illness and family responsibilities have cut my new words way down but hooooo-rah, recently I have written a couple of brand new stories. It feels so good to have actually made some stuff up! I am now in that world of hope again and feel like good news may be just an email away. I am doing that too frequent email refreshing.
Anyway, there have been a heap of top tips for writers around the blogs but none pleased me as much as this wonderful list by Laura Ellen Scott “Get out of that slushpile, what are you crazy?!?!?”  Perhaps if I follow her advice faithfully I’ll boost my success stats.

Talking to myself

Sara Crowley2 Comments

Sara, could you please stop going on about Ted Hughes letters? It’s getting boring.

Hmm, well, I would, but…

But what?

There’s this poetry book called “The Scattering”…

Right. And?

When I was in Oxford I picked it up and considered buying it. Truth is I felt compelled to buy it. To be honest, I only didn’t because I knew that I could get staff discount at work.

Okay, and?

Well, it’s kinda unusual for me to buy poetry. I mean, I love Les Murray but otherwise I’m not a huge reader of poetry. I certainly don’t write it. There’s Plath, Paul Beatty, Bukowski, Les Murray and…well, that’s pretty much it.

So what was there about this particular book of poetry then?

Not sure really. It is written by a man in response to his wife’s death. It seemed emotionally open and… Nope, not sure.

Right. So, you saw this poetry book but didn’t buy it? Fascinating.

But!

Okay?

I came back and tried to buy it at work but we had sold out. Three people in one day came and asked me for it. Three people asking for the same poetry collection! Then I heard that it had won the Costa Book of the Year Award. This is highly unusual.

Cool. I’m pleased for poetry.

Yes. So. Today I saw the book was back in stock and bought it.

Good for you.

Ta. You can buy a copy at a branch of Waterstones or online at Waterstones.com

Great. Thanks.

Did you notice who the author is?

No. Who?

Christopher Reid.

Right.

Christopher Reid!

Okay.

Ring any bells?

Nope. Should it?

Christopher Reid is the editor of The Collected Letters of Ted Hughes.

Ooh! Spooky.

Is it?

Dunno. Could just be a coincidence.

Yeah, that’s what I figured.

Making things up

Sara Crowley6 Comments

I haven’t been doing much bloggy stuff lately, but that’s because I’ve been busily making things up and it’s been taking up my computer time. Yay, it’s like I had forgotten what fiction could be. It’s great fun – I think imaginary things in my head and then write it down and create stories. Woot woot!

I will stop banging on about Ted Hughes eventually but I am still savouring the Collected Letters, and it seems to have been the key to unlocking my words again. He struggled and went months without writing at times, he sweated over stories, he abandoned ideas and ranted and tried to find his mojo again. It’s done me such good to read. It’s as if someone has said to me “Whatever way you do it is okay.”

I have entered a couple of comps, subbed a couple of bits. Health-wise I am feeling improved, not totally ok, and I have good days and bad, but yeah, getting there I think.

Aren’t words fabulous. I’m grooving on “palpable” at the moment.

Letters of Ted Hughes selected and edited by Christopher Reid (thoughts while reading)

Sara Crowley5 Comments
I have a cold. Poor me. It is just a cold so I am able to struggle on. It’s been a busy week, uncommonly sociable actually, which has made me realise how unsociable I usually am. I’ve been in to Brighton and up to London and have sat on trains for quite a few hours so I had extra time to read “Letters of Ted Hughes”, and wow, I am enjoying it so very much, it’s a delicious treat.
So much of what he writes in letters to Plath and other writers is incredibly relevant and familiar. He writes about things that affect me, and consequently fills me with a strange confidence. Ah, I can think to myself, it was the same even for Ted. (Yeah, we’re *that* familiar I can call him Ted.)
On not being able to write: “At present I am doing nothing – I sit for hours like a statue of a man writing, no different, except during the 3rd or 4th hour a bead of sweat moves on my temple. I have never known it so hard to write.”
On discovering he had won a prize to have his first book of poetry published: “My first reaction was a horrible feeling of guilt at what I had committed, and I went to read the poems over to see if they were really as dull as I dreded (sic) they were. I immediately saw fifty things I wanted to change and I’m appalled that I let most of the poems out in such an unfinished state.”
On rejections: “Don’t be taken back by those rejections, but don’t send them straight out…If you can keep up your writing you will see, after a few weeks, where you can improve the rejected ones, or whether they are better let lie.”
I am finding it liberating and inspirational and it seems to be feeding me creatively, to the point where I have just finished writing the first draft of one new story, am editing two other stories, and had a great idea of what to do with an old story that I like but which doesn’t quite work as is. I’m not sure what the magic of it is, but hey, it’s good!
One other thing: I always said that Matt wrote the best emails and letters ever. His were funny, clever, sarcastic, witty, intelligent and thoughtful. He had an authoritative voice which made statements; sometimes hilariously, wicked statements. Ted Hughes writes in the same way, it’s really uncanny. It’s not Matt’s voice, but they definitely shared a similar style. Matt really disliked Hughes, he was a Plath fan who blamed Hughes for her suicide. I am amused to note just how similar TH and MK seem, and would love to be able to tease Matt about it.
Anyway, available at Waterstone’s bookshops or online at Waterstone.com at the bargain price of £7.49

HTML Giant, Ted Hughes, permission to write, privilege, education, commas.

Sara Crowley16 Comments

I read online publications and submit my own stories. The standard is high (so high that comparing the weaker books for sale at work in the bookshop leaves me baffled at how they are published in print and some of these online authors are not) and sometimes that is an exhilarating thing that inspires and pushes me, and other times it kinda makes me a wee bit anxious – am I good enough, how can I get better?

There are a wealth of do’s and don’t’s scattered thru the lit blogs; advice which can help but also hinder. HTML Giant has a lot of very good writers who say things authoritatively, persuasively and thoughtfully. (And other times they talk a load of bollox, but that’s not relevant right now.) I enjoy reading HTML Giant although occasionally I struggle with what I perceive as its American Academia “in club” vibe.

Recently I have been fretting about my lack of a formal writing education. I don’t think my A level English Lit counts for much! I have begun doubting my ability to compete with all the MFA/MA students out in the world. I am pretty much self taught, and what I know I have gleaned from reading. It has got me this far, wherever this far is. Now I worry that misplacing a comma and fucking up formatting is working against me when I submit to the same ‘zines these HTML people edit and inhabit.

I took Simon to Oxford for a birthday treat last weekend. We did the tourist bus tour and looked at University sites and beautiful old buildings. Part of me felt a familiar twist of resentment – I felt the same when we visited Cambridge – a tug of longing to immerse myself in study, an unpleasant envy of those who do. Anyway, I enjoyed myself in Blackwell’s. I bought a copy of Strunk and White’s “Elements of Style” which I hope may help me. I also bought a half price copy of “Letters of Ted Hughes”. I’m a huge cliche in that I adore the whole Ted and Sylvia *thing* and have for years. I love both of their poetry (and prose) and hold them in the highest literary regard. Their story began in Cambridge, and knowing that Sylvia Plath was a genius student I have always imagined that Ted was too. I began reading “Letters” last night and was delighted to read Christopher Reid (the editor) write in his introduction:

“A more pervasive problem has been what to do with Hughes’s spelling mistakes, which occur liberally in both manuscripts and typescripts, and with his idiosyncratic punctuation and sometimes wayward grammar and syntax.”

Yipee! He goes on:

“Oddities of punctuation are even more abundant, and most of these I have preserved…”

“…Missing commas and full stops, the pairing of single with double inverted commas, lists lacking their expected commas and such like.”

Now I am in no way comparing my writing self with that of Hughes, but ooh, how lovely to know that such a hero had fucksy commas too! Plus, he swapped his English course for Anthropology and only achieved a 2nd. Ha!

Onwards!

Five bits of blether

Sara Crowley6 Comments

1) I subbed a few bits and bobs last week; the first time I have done so in what seems like an age. I got my first acceptance of the year today. It’s for a tiny bit o’ word play, nothing big or clever, but I am pleased. It’s a start.


2) This week there were less people coming into the bookshop and brandishing out of print books that they claim to have received as unwanted Christmas presents. The whole exchange/refund thing becomes an awkward business in January. Sometimes you get people coming in with a big glossy hardback that they assume was bought at full price. Without a receipt we will offer an exchange for the price we sold the book at during December. Telling someone that their sister or whoever actually only paid £8 not £16 always makes me squirm. And the person trying to exchange an out of print book? Did someone buy them a gift from a bargain bookshop or are they just trying their luck with an unwanted book they had on their own shelves? Either way it makes me feel a little uncomfortable.


3) I apologise to the man who asked for the erotica section. I really didn’t hear you. I didn’t mean to make you shout “I want erotica” that loudly.


4) I apologise to the man buying the butt fucking anthology. The price on the back was in dollars and I had to type the isbn into my computer to get the price in sterling.


5) Radio 3’s The Verb is running a short story competition judged by Janice Galloway. The winning entry will be read out on a future show. No bucks, no trophy, but plenty of kudos, no?

This month is the 150th anniversary of the birth of Anton Chekhov, doctor, playwright – and master of the short story. He wrote hundreds of them, often very quickly, and many have become enduring and influential classics: The Lady with the Dog, Kashtanka, and The Kiss to name but a few.

As part of Radio 3’s Chekhov season, The Verb would like you to send us an original short story of 1000 words, using one of the following Chekhov titles:

1. The Lady with the Dog
2. Difficult People
3. The Lottery Ticket

Please don’t call your story Difficult Dogs, or The Lady with the Ticket! These will not be considered. You don’t have to use the same characters, or setting – you don’t even have to have read the original story – but we will be awarding points for a certain Chekhovian spirit. Please check our terms and conditions, below, before sending your entry to:

theverb@bbc.co.uk

or:

The Verb,
Room 7045,
Broadcasting House,
Portland Place,
London W1A 1AA

The closing date of the competition is 5th February.

"Short Circuit – A Guide to the Art of the Short Story" Blog tour here NOW!

Sara Crowley5 Comments

Ok, it’s the 4th of January, the day the majority of us return to work or school after the holidays, and it’s time to get back at “it” (whatever your “it” may be!) Reading around the blogs lots of writers are resolving to be better, work harder, hone craft, shine prose etc. Well read on…

I get asked to review a lot of stuff these days and to be honest I turn most requests down. Whilst I like to imagine myself some queen bitch who will tell it like it is, the truth is that I actually hate to upset anyone if I dislike their work. On the other hand I have no desire to turn my blog into some kind of puff factory where I churn out positive reviews for fellow authors in the hope that one day they will reciprocate should I have something of my own to sell either, so I tend to say no to requests unless I think I’m going to be genuinely enthusiastic about the book.

Hurray for Short Circuit!

It’s a guide to writing short stories written by experienced authors and teachers and is packed with essays, advice and exercises. It’s a text book that will keep on giving, and one can dip in and out. Having trouble with your ending? Check out the relevant chapters here. Stuck for inspiration? Try one of the exercises. (And so on…)

This ace book was edited by Vanessa Gebbie who answered some of my rubbish questions! (One question is inaccurate but I left it in because Vanessa’s answer is so good and if I reworded it I’d make her look a bit nuts!)

As editor of Short Circuit – A Guide to the Art of the Short Story, how did you select the contributing authors?
Easy. I’d either met (thanks to the comp circuit) or otherwise been in touch with (blogosphere etc)  so many fantastic writers – I drew up a wish list. I was keen to have only half Salt authors in the main part of the book, for a start. Then I looked at how ‘open’ the people were, whether they were easy to talk to/unstuffy – those I’d met and those I hadn’t. You can tell a lot from blogs etc. I didn’t want any stuffy old academic up one’s self dahling text. Writing is NOT the province of academia, or any ‘set’.  I wanted a predominance of top prizewinners AND the majority had to be great writing teachers. I wasn’t tough on myself or anything…
Do you think it’s possible for anyone to become a good short story writer or does there have to be natural talent?
I think you can learn to be a good writer.  Craft skills can be learned – and writing is a craft, just like making furniture. But we can’t all be Chippendales (and I don’t mean the strippers…).
On top of learning craft, there has to be something – a way of seeing the world, a need to express something, an original mind. You can teach someone to open their eyes a bit more, to see through a writer’s eyes… I believe that.  But beyond that…what is genius? Where does it come from? No idea! (If you find the answer, can we go halves?)
Can people starting their writing journey learn practical tips for writing short stories by reading Short Circuit?
Absolutely. When I was planning the book, I decided all I could do was create the book I would have loved when I started out. So that if someone picks it up they are instantly in the company of a group of fabulous writers, who are all generous with their time, advice and care. Care? What am I blathering about? Yes – CARE. Because if you  (not you – know what I mean…?) just go round telling a new writer that there is only ONE way to do things, YOUR way – you really don’t care or understand at all.
I wanted to send people off on trails of questions, try this, try that, consider this, consider that. And find out what works for them. Not for me. I am irrelevant as far as their writing journey goes, see? But I can put a range of ideas in front of them, let them discover, stretch. Get it wrong! Then gradually, get it right. But avoid some elephant traps along the way.
And people further into their own writing journey?
I also wanted a book that I could turn to when I’m more experienced, but jaded. When I find the strategies I employ let me down and I want to try something else.  Or when I am down, and want to remind myself that others get down too, and find this thing hard. Everyone’s honest, in the book. No one ‘flannels’, I don’t think…
I love the exercises at the end of each chapter. Sometimes a writer becomes stuck for inspiration and these are perfect springboards into creativity. Do you have a personal favourite exercise?
No, not really, apart from the exercise that might work today as opposed to yesterday.  The one that usually works is flash writing… just spilling it out, not censoring yourself.
And the other is, cutting out the feedback loop by switching off the screen. Or sticking an old teeshirt over it. And typing like the devil…(on a laptop, turn the font colour to white… but try not to hit caps lock.)
What is the worst piece of writing advice you have been given?
Can I have three??
1)      “Women writers over fifty might as well recognise that they are not going to get published, so just have a bit of fun.” (Visiting editor of now defunct lit mag (ha ha), Sussex University, 2003).
2)      “Learn to write fiction by writing a novel.”
3)      “The short story is just a stepping stone to the real thing – the novel.” (The short story is NOTHING like a novel. I know this, and challenge anyone to a duel if they say it is.)
And the best?
1) “Read read read write write write submit submit submit. Seek out rejections. Knock your ego sideways.”  
I found myself “Yes, yes-ing…” some of the chapters as I recognised my own writing self, and other times delighting in the clarity of someone expressing something I had previously felt intuitively (Elaine Chiew’s marvellous chapter on endings will feed into my own work I think, and Alison MacLeod’s chapter on risk taking felt very true. I loved Paul Magrs chapter and will reread his list until it all sticks in my head.)
Did you disagree with anything said?
Not really, because it is not didactic. I tend to automatically disagree if anyone is didactic! If anyone had said THIS is how it MUST be done, then I’d disagree on principle. But even when (for example) Tobias Hill took me to task for making an assumption about something, in our interview  – voice/vocabulary use/charactersisation – I thought hey, this is great, because it challenged my preconceptions, made me think. And that’s exactly what I wanted it to do for others.
I can see places where the other writers are saying they work in a different way to me – but you can’t disagree with that, can you?! It just opens my eyes to the range of things we do as writers.
Did you learn anything new?

Yes!! It’s so easy to get into a rut, isn’t it? A mindset that says ‘this is how Vanessa Gebbie works best and I can’t possibly try anything else…’. I know I can get like that easily – and I know it’s out of fear. Fear that I won’t be able to recreate the success I had last year/week/month again. Fear that it’s finished.
But ruts are only made in mud, when mud is soft. I learned from all the amazing writers, their openness, willingness to share – that it is possible to be successful in many many different ways, that it is important to try new things. That mud can be reshaped. (How’s that for a muddled metaphor?!)
As far as I can tell (from my not at all scientific method of quickly scan reading) the single most recommended writer of short stories is Raymond Carver. What do you think makes him so special?
I just know my reaction to a story like A Small Good Thing is visceral, and that this is what I want to achieve in my reader,  in however small a way. That he really does write stories that make you forget you are reading (Viz Jon Wyatt of Bridport) and does it so seemingly effortlessly. No poncy writerliness. I think a lot of writers appreciate the technical superiority of his work.
You asked each of the 24 contributors to name their favourite short stories. There are fewer female writers on these lists than males, and six writers, including yourself, only mentioned male authors. Why do you think this may be? 
Oy. Petina Gappah is a lady. (Oh gosh, of course I know Ms Gappah is a woman but in my rubbish scanning I didn’t see her name in Vanessa’s list. My bad!)
But I take your point. Hand on heart – I have no idea. I also know that if I was asked the same question on any day of the week, the answer to ‘give me your six fave short stories’ would change. I’d only just read the Yann Martel story for example, was blown away by it, so put it there because I want everyone to read it.  The same with the Gappah – I loved her collection for many many reasons, not the least that quite apart from being bloody good stories, it also taught me something – mostly about my own ignorance. And hey, what vindication of my taste, that she goes and wins Guardian First Book Award months later…!
Maybe it’s a sex thing. Maybe I generally respond better to writing that happens to come from a male brain/heart rather than a female one? Maybe I find writing by blokes who can express themselves beautifully, rawly, with meaning, somewhat ‘sexy’ (The Ledge, Ballistics) Maybe I don’t read enough female writers? Maybe I enjoy work by female writers, but generally, I don’t REMEMBER the work as vividly. Why is that? You tell me.
Or maybe (most likely) I just picked my fave stories, not worrying whether the writer of the stories happened to be the owner of a dick.
Do you have a favourite female short story writer? 
No. I enjoy Annie Proulx, Ali Smith, Anne Enright, A L Kennedy, Alice Munro , and thats just some of the ‘A’s… I greatly enjoy the work of all the female writers in Short Circuit, Salt and Non-Salt  and people keep telling me I ought to read this and this and that… aaagh. I am trying!
If so, why did she not make your favourite short stories list? 
Cos I enjoy hundreds of short story writers, and it doesn’t cross my mind to consider what physical characteristics the writer has. I’m not sure it’s relevant. The words are what matters, innit?! and Sara, thank you for having me and Short Circuit on your blog. I appreciate it hugely, and its been fun. Thanks for such wonderful and searching questions!!
Thank you so much Vanessa!

Short Circuit is available directly from Salt and of course from Waterstones!