“Prose both scabrous and poetic.” – Publishers Weekly. “Proust meets Chandler over a pint of Guinness.” – Spectator. “A sheer pleasure.” – Tana French. “Among the most memorable books of the year, of any genre.” – Sunday Times. “A hardboiled delight.” – Guardian. “Imagine Donald Westlake and Richard Stark collaborating on a screwball noir.” – Kirkus Reviews. “A cross between Raymond Chandler and Flann O’Brien.” – John Banville. “The effortless cool of Elmore Leonard at his peak.” – Ray Banks. “A fine writer at the top of his game.” – Lee Child.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

“I’ve Been Writing In My Car / It’s Not Quite A Jaguar …”

Actually, for all I know Ava McCarthy does drive a Jag. That’d certainly make the whole writing-in-the-car malarkey a little more comfortable. To wit:
Ava’s unorthodox approach to writing knocks JK Rowling’s tale of writing her first novel in a café into a cocked hat: “I was determined not to impact on family life, so I used to get up really early in the morning, drive into work and sit outside my office for two hours in the car with the laptop on my knees and the heater blowing.
  “The car is a super place to work. There’s no fridge, no kettle, no housework ... you just focus. For book two, I’ve been trying to work in the house, but I find myself being drawn to the car. The neighbours think I’m mad.”
  For the rest, clickety-click here ...
  Over to you, folks. Where’s the barmiest place you’ve ever written?

4 comments:

bookwitch said...

I'm awfully conventional for a witch. But I have heard that laptops are a godsend for those who like writing on the toilet.

Anonymous said...

the hotpress once

Bob said...

In the washroom of the local heritage centre while my kids were at their chess class in the room outside. I can still smell the washing powder.

Declan Burke said...

I finished 'The Big O' in an alleyway outside our apartment on the Sicilian island of Lipari, early in the morning while my good wife-to-be slumbered inside, with ripe oranges falling from the tree overhead to rot on the paving stones. When the sun got high enough to pour down the alleyway, I'd pack it in for the day.