Where do you work?
In theory I write at my desk, at the front of the house, with some lovely stained glass in front of me, and the view of the bins to the side. But over the last year that’s where my day job – teaching at City, University of London – has been happening, so for my own writing I find another spot in the house, anywhere else: in bed, in my not particularly comfy armchair, on the sofa.
What is your writing routine? Are you a morning or evening person, do you have any rituals associated with your writing?
No particular routine or time of day. I’ve had good early morning periods of writing, and some good late night jags. I do write to music: classical and electronic, anything I can get lost in. Some recent mainstays are various piano recordings by Víkingur Ólafsson and Roedelius, albums by Four Tet, Jane Weaver’s Loops in the Secret Society.
Do you have any writer “habits” – bad or otherwise?
Oh, there’s a lot of looking and smiling for my characters, especially in early drafts. I seem to have to make them act out the scenes in microscopic detail, as if I’m working in stop-motion animation rather than prose. That has to come out, further down the line. I seem to be a fan, too, of “she was stood” and “he was sat”, and “she thought to herself”, all verb forms that get some writers het up. I like them, though. I think they make the characters more present to themselves.
If you could develop one amazing writer super-power what would it be?
Infinite time, infinite focus, infinite confidence.
What happens when you stop writing? Away from the page, what do you do to relax?
Since the start of lockdown I’ve been running more regularly, first thing in the morning three times a week or so, and that has really helped keep me grounded in all sorts of ways. And I enjoy gardening: weeding, watering, watching bees. My wife and I usually have a Scandi noir TV show on the go in the evenings.
Any words of advice to other writers, who might like to be in your shoes – shortlisted for the award – next year?
The best piece of advice I’d give to any writers, and I give it to my students, is from John Gardner’s book The Art of Fiction. It comes on the last page of the last chapter, where Gardner is talking about how to make sure the ending of your novel, or story, is as good as it can possibly be. “Read the story over and over,” he says, “at least a hundred of times – literally – watching for subtle meanings, connections, accidental repetitions, psychological significance.” He goes on, but the clue is there. You’ve got read and reread and revise a lot. I know I did that with this story, even though the first draft was written fairly quickly, and I’m sure that contributed to its success.
Read Jonathan Gibbs’ shortlisted story, A Prolonged Kiss, here