Going to share some of my older stories which I like and talk a little about them.
I like this story, went through and made a few small changes, but being prolific means I often have to go back a while and find things I like.
This one is about the drive to create, and the obsessive qualities sometimes required to create work, let alone great work.
The reclusive author was something of a trope for me until I took on Agatha Reeve as a client. JD Salinger, Thomas Pynchon, Harper Lee and Elena Ferrante were the names that I knew but landing one as an actual client had been an uneasy blessing.
She enquired by letter. She sent her first book along with it, a romantic thriller called Control and I had grimaced at it before idly flipping the first page over and reading her work. It had a crisp, disciplined strut to it. The language was simple and trusted the reader to do the work of the book, sometimes approaching a poetic lilt in places. Underneath that though, seethed an engine of sex and violence which made the blood rise in my cheeks.
It was a new experience reading something that sung to me as I read it.
She wrote back when I sent her…
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