![]() The following three novels, written between 19, were SF, because I'd decided that was what I was: a science fiction writer. ![]() That one was typed, and eventually accrued an impressive collection of publishers' rejection slips. Lacking a built-in off switch, it tumoured its way to about 400,000 words before I finally got the blighter wrestled to the ground and tied off. The next novel owed something - arguably an apology - to Joseph Heller's Catch-22 and remains the only book I've ever started without a plan. It was written in pencil in an old ship's logbook, and I didn't even bother typing it up I'd already decided it was juvenilia. ![]() I'd wanted to be a writer since primary school and had started trying to write novels when I was 14, finally producing something loosely fitting the definition two years later: a spy story crammed with sex and violence (I still scorn the idea of only writing what you know about). ![]() At the start of 1980 I thought of myself as a science fiction writer, albeit a profoundly unpublished one. ![]()
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