The Journal
Dispatches
Notes from inside the world of Cresthollow Bay — pieces from the town, behind-the-scenes from the writing of the books, and the occasional digression about whatever I happen to be reading.
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On waiting for the first review
There is, at present, no review of the book. This is a sentence I have written and deleted twice this week, on the grounds that it is mildly embarrassing to admit…
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On joining the noticeboard
There is, as of this week, a small account on the internet with my name attached to it. This is not, by my own measure, a development I expected…
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On the house that listens
My house knows when I leave the room. This is, I should say at once, by my own design. What I had not quite reckoned with, until recently, was how much all of this resembles a witness…
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On the problem of book two
The first book has a murder in it. This is not, on reflection, a surprising feature of a mystery novel, but it does present a logistical problem when you come to write the second one: you have already used your murder…
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On writing a town that does not quite exist
Cresthollow Bay does not exist. There is no harbour, no high street, no public library with a Returns trolley near the front door. There is no Iris, no Otto, no constable Suggs, and no herring gull called Gerald…