Firstly, you have to have lived a life full of experiences. That’s the grist for the mill. You have to know and have lived what you write about.
I only write about the things I love.
Next, you have to have an imagination that enables you to think up plots, story-lines, characters, settings and stories. You need a wealth of pressing ideas. I’ve always had so many thoughts buzzing round my head that I don’t need a net to catch them; I just need the time and energy to write them down. They generate the obsessive enthusiasm.
Thirdly, you have to have an ability to string words into interesting patterns. That is not merely grammar, spelling and mechanics; it’s a magic that causes words to come together in a synergetic pattern that illuminates wonder. Some call it style. It comes out of nowhere. A lifetime of writing. Some just have it. Others have to work for decades and put in thousands of hours before it comes together.
Fourthly, you need to be obstinate and able to endure the tedium and exhaustion, to become a completer finisher. A book can take a couple of thousand hours of work. You work alone, late into the night, and press on even when all the enthusiasm has dissipated. Then you start editing.
Fifthly, you have to have a thick skin to put up with the indifference, knock-backs, petty nit-picking and rude put-downs.
I have written some hundred and twenty books. I dread to think the number of hours. Fortunately I enjoy writing more than reading. It’s been worthwhile. The cost has been the time not spent with friends, family and other pursuits.
That’s the life of a writer.





















































