I like autumn. The drama of it; the golden lion roaring through the back door of the year, shaking its mane of leaves. A dangerous time; of violent rages and deceptive calm, of fireworks in the pockets and conkers in the fist.

A thing named is a thing tamed.

I think if you are an outsider then you are an outsider always.

Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp them until the blood flows.

I don't listen to music when I'm writing, but I often do when I'm reworking, editing or when I need to relax.

Some things can be both real and imaginary at the same time, . . . some lies can be true, . . . broken faith may be restored.

I let it go. It's like swimming against the current. It exhausts you. After a while, whoever you are, you just have to let go, and the river brings you home.