I must confess that I don’t plan out my books. This is to my own detriment—if only I were more organised (I often think), I would be far less prone to staring out of the window instead of writing, wondering if that squirrel will manage to jump from the cherry tree to our fence. The image of a squirrel leaping precariously is in many ways similar to how the first five pages of a novel unfold, at least for me. Within those first few pages, the entire direction of the book, its tone and plot, are set in motion. It’s hard to explain, but if the book were a colour or an icecream flavour, those first pages are its taste for me. Like a squirrel, I’m leaping towards the unknown.
The very jump itself is exhilarating, yet fraught with peril.
When things are going well, IIn Chinese literature, foxes are thought to have supernatural powers, and to be able to turn themselves into very attractive people. Wily tricksters, they will steal your heart as well as any money or gold wine cups that you happen to have lying around.
