In this new series of Web exclusives we talk to authors writing in or about the Middle Kingdom about their literary habits, preferences and peculiarities and examine the question at the heart of being an author – why they write

Our first author is Catherine Sampson whose gritty crime novels have won wide critical acclaim. Her last two books, The Pool of Unease and The Slaughter Pavilion (now in paperback), are set in her adopted city of Beijing, where she's been a long-time resident. Her fifth crime novel, also set in the capital, is out next year.

Why I write
I think most people have a favorite way of expressing themselves, and for me it's writing. If I didn't write novels I'd spend all my time writing something else – long letters to friends, or angry letters to the bank. Someone once asked me what I'd do if I knew I had only six months to live – I said I'd sit in front of my computer and write down everything that's happened to me in my life. My friends all said they'd travel, and I suspect they'd have more fun. I always think it's strange to call myself a writer – surely everyone can write, it's hardly a great distinction. But given all the hundreds of thousands of words that I've written and then deleted, I hope I've learnt something.

Do you write every day. If so, how many hours?
No, I wish I did write for a set number of hours ever day, because I suspect that is the secret of real success. Writing is all about self discipline – there is always something better to do. Washing up, for instance, holds absolutely infinite charm when compared with a blank screen and an even blanker mind. I've even sighed with relief at the sight of a tax return if it means I've got an excuse not to spend another day wringing my hands over a plot. My work pattern is untidy – there are great swathes of the year when I get no writing done. These periods are known as school holidays. Then there are months of intense work when the rest of my life goes to pot. As the deadline looms, this culminates in me locking myself in a hotel room for three or four days, working almost non stop, rewriting tens of thousands of words. I emerge, with a minute to go before check-out time, blinking in the sunlight and feeling decidedly nauseous, with great big bags under my eyes, but clutching something that can just about be called a manuscript.

Show/hide comments

Show/hide comment form