I wrote every day between the ages of 12 and 20 when I stopped because I went to Barcelona, where life was too exciting to write.

“One Minus One’”and “Barcelona, 1975” are more or less autobiographical.

As I settled down to sleep in that new bed in the dark city, I saw that it was too late now, too late for everything. I would not be given a second chance. In the hours when I woke, I have to tell you that this struck me almost with relief.

Anyone who works in the arts knows, if you're writing a novel or a play or anything, you have to be ready for someone to say, 'Your time is up.'

The problem is once you've written the opening paragraph and worked out how the rest of the story will go in your head, there's nothing in it for you. I write in longhand using disposable fountain pens on the right-hand side of the notebook for the first draft, then I rewrite some of the sentences and paragraphs on the left-hand side.

She was lonely without Blunt, but she was lonelier at the idea that the world went on as though she had not loved him.

All writing is a form of manipulation, of course, but you realize that a plain sentence can actually do so much.