1. Why do you write novels?

This is a tough one to kick off with! I can’t really recall a time when I didn’t write; be it a few random jottings on a page out of boredom, or something more considered and intricate like a short story or a novel. Writing is something I’ve always done and given that ‘because I do’ is hardly a satisfactory response and would make me appear incredibly rude, I’ll do my best to answer what’s a deceptively complex question that has had me racking my brain for a fair amount of time!

I would say that I write because I’m a reader, first and foremost. I’m of the opinion that it would be difficult to write—or at least write well—if you don’t read. I suppose like anybody seriously interested in the arts, there comes a point where you feel compelled to have a go for yourself; where you feel you have a sense of what ‘works’ and what doesn’t so you can at least find a way in to something that can appear daunting from the outside. The more I read and the more I processed in terms of narrative structure, characterisation, prose style, etc, the more confident I became that I could do something similar.

That’s not to say that it was like flicking a light switch. Like anything in life, perseverance is key and the more you apply yourself to something, the more you improve; even if those improvements may be imperceptible for a long time. The number of crossings out in my notebook is testament to the fact that you can still go down dead-ends, but I’ve always found it helps not to be scared of returning to the drawing board. I feel you can’t allow yourself to get too attached to certain ideas and you have to be willing to remove what isn’t working for the betterment of the novel as a whole. When I was editing The Heat of the Summer, for instance, there were a number of passages that I was attached to or believed represented some very good writing, but it became apparent that they had to be cut to make the novel itself tighter.

I guess what this touches on is that another reason I write is because the process itself is a source of fascination. There are always good days and bad days in terms of writing and there is nothing more frustrating than the latter, but I’ve always found it helps to keep focused on what you want to say or achieve with the novel. That focus on a central concept or a plot or a set of characters is what ultimately drives me as a writer. It may take a long time, but there are fewer things more rewarding seeing the creative process through to the end: from that germ of an idea to the finished novel. I think it teaches you a lot about yourself!

2. Who inspired you?

My parents have always been supportive and I feel very fortunate that they have always encouraged me in my writing. It seemed fitting to dedicate The Heat of the Summer to them. Further, I am incredibly appreciative of the work ethic they instilled in me. It is a bit simplistic that say that hard work always pays off when it patently does not for so many, but they always stressed that nothing will ever happen if you don’t at least put in the hours. I am very proud of my working-class roots and it’s nothing short of a scandal that so many from similar backgrounds have essentially been excluded from the arts due to not having the right connections or are unable to commit financially, so I’m happy to support New2thescene in championing talent who may not otherwise have a platform to showcase their work.

My partner Katie is another influence. As an English teacher—and a tremendous one at that—her feedback has always been on-point. She’s always been a great sounding board for ideas and has been supportive of my aspirations, even when I may irritate her by scribbling down ideas when she’s trying to get some sleep late at night!

There are probably too many literary inspirations to name, but I will have a go at listing a few. Steve Erickson is one. He’s a difficult writer to pigeonhole as his work tends to flit between genres, but I’ve always been fascinated by the way he’s managed to distil the paradoxical nature of American history in such weird and innovative ways. Haruki Murakami is another writer whose work I always return to. In my opinion, he is the world’s greatest living author and his novels often capture so much of the human condition with such a deft, skilled touch. I’ll keep it to three here to be brief, so I will say David Peace. I’ve always loved how he explores the relationship between environment and protagonist in his work: how one indelibly shapes the other. His characters are always so intriguing and multi-layered as a result. He never shies away from conveying the darker reaches of the human psyche, but there’s always a reminder there that this comes from a very real place; be it via trauma, or simply having been ground down by a world that is unremittingly bleak. I don’t think this country has produced many better writers than him over the past couple of decades.

3. What’s the essence of your style? The part, if removed, is not your voice anymore?

My narrative voice is fundamentally linked to the protagonist. For my writing to work, I think I have to have a character that I fully buy into. I am never present fully in any of my characters, but it would be fair to say that slight traces of my own personality are present in a couple and then it’s a case of fleshing them out further and making them plausible within the confines of the world I’ve created. I would say I would find it difficult to write if I could not identify with my protagonist. That’s not to say that they are always likeable, though. I think it would be pretty dull to spend so much time writing a character who you thought was nice and agreeable at all times. I believe you need to have some darkness or sense that they are flawed or imperfect in order to keep you coming back to the manuscript and visualising how they react to different scenarios. In terms of The Heat of the Summer, I wanted to make Luke—the central protagonist—vulnerable and sympathetic on account of what he’s been through in life, but there are also features of his personality that I don’t think are especially likeable at the same time. I’ll let the reader decide if they think that’s fair, but from my perspective, what I perceived as his negative traits were critical in enabling to develop the plot.

4. What was your dance-around-the-kitchen moment in writing?

Definitely when Armley Press informed me that they wanted to publish The Heat of the Summer. It had been through several revisions and had been rejected by several agents, so to have a publisher offer that validation that they believe your work is worth investing time and effort in was an extraordinary feeling. I will always be grateful to John Lake and Mick McCann at Armley for that.

Before that, I wrote two pretty terrible novels in my late-teens and early-twenties. I actually may return to one of them at some point as I still think there’s a kernel of a good idea there and it could benefit from experience I’ve accrued since, but the other will almost certainly never see the light of day. Either way, I regard both as part of the learning curve. Even though nothing came of them, both gave me a feeling of satisfaction and at least showed that I had the patience and discipline to actually write a novel. I’d say they definitely spurred me on.

5. What do you want to accomplish in your writing career?

To make a living from their work has to be every artists dream. Other than that, I don’t think you can ask for any more than longevity. I read Haruki Murakami’s Novelist as a Vocation over Christmas and he spoke about how he felt fortunate as a writer to have produced work for so long. He described writing using the analogy of a wrestling match. Anybody can put pen to paper and start writing, just like how anybody can accept an open challenge and step into the ring. The key, though, is to hang in there for as long as possible. That was something that struck me, especially thinking about days when it feels as though you are involved in a fight with the words on the page. I think I’ll consider myself very fortunate if I’m still writing and producing novels a number of years for now.

6. Can you ever envisage not writing novels - running out of ideas or energy?

Currently, I would answer that question with a resounding no. As I mentioned, writing is just something I’ve always done and it’s hard for me to imagine a scenario where I wouldn’t actively put pen to paper. The ‘dance-around-the-kitchen’ feeling I described when The Heat of the Summer is still in my system and is something I’m eager to replicate. Especially with something I’m currently writing and one or two other ideas swirling around in my head.

That said, you can never say never. I realise that’s a terrible cliché, but even the most tiresome clichés contain the slightest element of truth. I remember people reacting with incredulity when Philip Roth announced his retirement from writing in 2012; as though it was inconceivable that one of the most revered writers of our time could just walk away from something he did so well without a second thought. He did, of course, and to my knowledge, there was never even the slightest indication that he would come out of retirement before he died. That always intrigued me and made me wonder whether the compulsion to write ever becomes a burden, or whether there comes a time when you make peace with the fact that you have said all you have to. In respect of the latter, I suppose it would be best to bow out gracefully than outstay your welcome. God knows there’s enough unwelcome noise in the world.

7. What advice would you give to your younger self?

Keep going. Keep writing. Keep re-writing. But it’s probably a good one thing that I’ll never meet my younger self, as he would no doubt ignore that advice. I was very headstrong and stubborn back in the day. Some people might say I still am!

8. Away from writing, what are your passions, and what do they mean to you?

Film and music are two of my biggest passions. That may come across in The Heat of the Summer! I actually enjoy writing about both because as forms, they are so potent and evocative. Even just referencing a song or a scene from a film can have this Proustian effect in recalling a time or a place, or inspiring a range of emotions. I find it’s a great way of establishing mood and atmosphere, too. We’ve all had songs and films that have made us feel particular ways or reminded us of certain points in our lives, so that’s something I’ve tried to channel through my writing. It’s such a universal, yet profound feeling.

Football is another major passion of mine. Being from Merseyside, it’s almost unheard for anyone to not have the faintest allegiance to a team, even if they’re just paying lip service to their family’s team. I’d say it’s reflective of how intrinsic the game is to the region’s identity. It’s an interest that’s enabled me to forge relationships with some fantastic people who I would otherwise not have met. In that respect, I love how it’s something of a leveller; a source of communal longing for a short period of time. There’s something truly beautiful in that which not many other things can engender. Admittedly, there are a number of things in the modern game that are really testing me on that feeling (the sterility of VAR, sportswashing, the monetising of hate and outrage, the contempt the governing bodies have for fans), but I hope it’s something that can endure.

Running is something that I find settles me. It’s a hobby that I shamefully haven’t done enough of recently, but it’s a way of clearing my mind after a tiring day. I don’t even listen to music while running. I just concentrate on the road ahead and let my mind empty. I’ve always found a great form of therapy. An added bonus is that ideas can often pop in there when I least expect it and I have little else to do but toss them over in my mind.

9. How would your best friend describe you?

See question 7: headstrong and stubborn! I would also like to think they would describe me as loyal and someone who possesses a good sense of humour. The moment you start taking yourself too seriously as an artist is when you are on the cusp of disappearing up your own backside.

10. What’s a significant question to ask you, that no other interview has to date, and what’s the answer, only for New2theScene?

Seeing as this is my first-ever interview, all of these are significant questions that I’ve never been asked! In the spirit of the question, I’d say that nobody has ever asked me about my writing routine. Weirdly, it differs for every project I undertake and I need to find something which fits the vibe of the novel, which can take a little time. For what I’m currently writing, I kind of have to wait for the emotions I ascribe to the character to really build into a head-of-steam so that the words flow as though I’ve emptying out what’s in my mind. It’s a completely different way of working to how I wrote The Heat of the Summer, but I’ve found it works for this particular manuscript. I’ve also been listening to a lot of Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, and David Bowie’s Blackstar album, which probably gives you an insight into the mood of the piece!