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But I need to write in orbit around the far side of the moon, in radio silence, info-shadow. If it’s written with permission, it’s trash – even before…
2
After I sharpen a pencil, I always sniff it. That’s the smell of my work – wood and lead, graphite and cedar.
2
How many more times will I think, ‘This might be the last?’
1
I am quite fond of dust.
2
Today, Matthew, I am going to be Samuel Johnson.
3
Novels have Waiting Rooms, too; I’m not sure if there’s an equivalent to holding their hand as they die. It’s more like reaching inside their chest…
3
Two people who were characterized as lighthouse keepers are now the most beautiful, entertaining affair; the inert marriage of X and Y has exploded into…
2
Very rarely, I can smell the petrol – it was one of my favourite smells, when I was a boy. Petrol meant drives with my father to service stations…
5
On some pages, I feel I ring through changes on something, anything, nothing – along with somewhere, anywhere, nowhere, and someone, anyone, no-one. 
2
Sweep, sweep-sweep and, if necessary, SWEEP, all with the palm of my left hand because if I do it with the palm of my right it might pick up crumbs of…
3
Hello, this isn’t going to be so much a Q&A as last time.
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True Grit.
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