An abundance of exceptional writing remains unpublished and will remain undiscovered like treasures at the bottom of a vast, beautiful ocean.
Why?
For one thing, the ground has shifted fundamentally since the breakout era of the great commercial storytellers—the Ludlums, the Kings, the Grishams. Major publishing houses are no longer the patient patrons of craft; agents are no longer talent scouts and mentors. They act more like risk-averse investment firms and risk-mitigating portfolio...
It happens. If we live long enough, we grow old. If we grow old enough, we overstay our welcome. Or, we outlive our usefulness. Or we simply have to make room for the new, and the young. Often, the better. Then, we retire.
Retire to what? Travelling the world? Redecorating the country estate? Few have the means. So, write a book it is, more often than not.
It seems to me that there is some subtly spoken, or unspoken, rather romantic illusion about those who take up the pen late in life. They...
There is a quiet assumption that if a writer is not publishing, they are not writing. That an empty page must reflect an empty mind—or worse, a lack of discipline.
I live between two worlds: one where my recommendations are followed and my advice is considered and another in the unruly company of my characters. One demands predictability—a deliverable, a forecast, a measurable outcome. The other asks only that I remain still long enough to listen.
It is a strange thing to spend the day...
There is a world that consists of grids and spreadsheets; curves, commandments, formats and formulas. That world is utterly governed by sales graphs and review counts. It is a world whose fundamental endeavour is to reduce the depths of the human condition to a configuration that will translate directly into a revenue number on an income statement.
Should they be judged for this? I say no. They have families to feed, costs to amortise and shareholders to keep happy. It is simply the way of...