A work of fiction that charts events that
could conceivably happen for real in the real world is, for me, pointless. I’d
rather read about these events happening to real people in biographies, than
follow the misfortunes of fake characters in tepid romances or colour-by-number
crime stories.
So I write about ordinary people in
incredible, fantastical situations, putting them up against awesome obstacles
and seemingly insurmountable odds. And then I throw shit at them. As much bad
shit as I can find. And when I run out, I find some more. Posing my
protagonists challenge after challenge after challenge until they either break
down or break out.
No comments:
Post a Comment