And then, as if written by the hand of a bad novelist, an incredible thing happened.

Getting that first draft out is a horribly hard grind, but that (perversely) is where the joy of it lies.

And sure enough,the youth in question was not his usual dapper self. His face was puffy, his eyes red and wild; his shirt(distressingly unbuttoned)hung over his trousers in sloppy fashion. All very out of charactar: Mandrake was normally defined by his rigid self-control. Somthing seemed to have stripped all that away. Well, the poor lad was emotionally brittle.He needed sympathetic handling. "You're a mess," I sneered "You've lost it big time. What's happened? All the guilt and self-loathing suddenly get to you? It can't just be that someone else called me, surly?

Long ago I dreamed of being a hero in your company" Halli said Huskily "I'm sorry to say your reality disappoints me

When I was young, I kept a diary for about 10 years and I had to write in it every day. Even on days when nothing seemed to happen, I made myself think of something to put in it.

When I write something that would have made me laugh as a 10-year-old, or would have scared me or would have excited me, I know I'm onto something.

Most traditional ghost stories feature rather hapless protagonists, who have nasty things happen to them.