A literary work first emerges as an idea that is effectively unsourced -- you never really know where it's coming from. You keep turning it over in your head, thinking about it, testing it. This provides a kind of grace period in which the idea is examined and, when it proves useful, nurtured until it is fully formed, then it demands to be born. Some ideas may not survive this grace period, remaining incomplete, destined not to see the light of day. A very long time might pass between the initial emergence of the idea to the moment of birth. In other cases no sooner is the idea conceived than it is born. The Trilogy, for example, first manifested itself in the form of disparate fragments -- it took me years to work out a way of connecting them.
The Thief and the Dogs originated as I followed news of a real-life murderer's crimes and no sooner had the real-life story concluded than I sat down to write the novel; I think the idea of the novel had been maturing inside me for a long time, waiting for a chance to come out. A literary work requires some time to grow and form until it is ready for birth. It is a matter of gestation.
A literary work first emerges as an idea that is effectively unsourced -- you never really know where it's coming from. You keep turning it over in your head, thinking about it, testing it. This provides a kind of grace period in which the idea is examined and, when it proves useful, nurtured until it is fully formed, then it demands to be born. Some ideas may not survive this grace period, remaining incomplete, destined not to see the light of day. A very long time might pass between the initial emergence of the idea to the moment of birth. In other cases no sooner is the idea conceived than it is born. The Trilogy, for example, first manifested itself in the form of disparate fragments -- it took me years to work out a way of connecting them.
