What I know
I wrote last week that my book is not autobiographical or yet another tired look at the gritty scandal, greed not to mention sex in the city (damn, there goes 90% of my potential readership. Fair enough, 99%). Well, not really, anyway. Or perhaps, well okay, okay, it is just a wee bit (and before I obliterate my entire audience, fear not, there is some sex in it). Of course when I decided to pen a novel I remembered rule number one of writing. Write what you know. Hmm… this is gonna be tough, really tough. Naturally, for me anyway, this ruled out quite a bit indeed. Let’s see now, I’m not very well going to write a legal crime thriller, not mad on sci-fi, fantasy, or erotic fiction (again, there goes my audience). It would preclude imparting any...
All about character
These past weeks I’ve been working on developing my character. Well, not my character, you see, (although perhaps not a bad idea) but my protagonist, May. Ahh, I hear you say, May, uh huh, right. I see, January. And this May character is a banker in the City? On the trading floor? And this novel is fiction, right? (A clue, yes I was a banker in the City before jacking it all in for Rhyme Time and Tumble Tots.) Must have been a stretch, right? But let’s be clear, though we might share some qualities, May is not me. I am not May. Nor is this another tell-all, warts-and-all expose of the City (though the City does play a key role in the narrative, but we’ll leave that for another time). Why would I duplicate myself (assuming I possess such acute...
