At All Times, Think Like

[about A Tiresome Colleague]: He Could Bore For Scotland.

From This Height The Sleeping City Seems Like A Child's Construction, A Model Which Has Refused To Be Constrained By Imagination. The Volcanic Plug Might Be Black Plasticine, The Castle Balanced Solidly Atop It A Skewed Rendition Of Crenellated Building Bricks. The Orange Street Lamps Are Crumpled Toffee-wrappers Glued To Lollipop Sticks.

I Took The First James Kelman Novel, 'the Bus Conductor Hines', Home To My Dad. I Thought, 'my Dad Will Like This; It's Written In Scots.' But My Dad Said: 'i Can't Read That.' He Was Reading James Bond And John Le Carre. That Was Part Of What Attracted Me To Crime - The Idea Of Getting A Wide Audience.

It Was The Laughter Of Birthdays, Of Money Found In An Old Pocket.

I Used To Think That: Whenever I Heard That Someone Had Taken 10 Years To Write A Novel, I'd Think It Must Be A Big, Serious Book. Now I Think, 'no - It Took You One Year To Write, And Nine Years To Sit Around Eating Kit Kats.