One of my earliest memories could have been my last one
Laura Elliot
I was three years old and living in the top storey of an old Georgian house opposite the Grand Canal in Dublin. One day, I was so intrigued by the barges making their way along the canal that I climbed out onto the window ledge to get a better view. I still remember my mother's arms encircling me, the whoosh as I was dragged inside and my bewilderment as to why she was crying enough tears to float a barge.
When I was a child I longed to be a writer but always believed writers were 'other' people.
This unshakable conviction followed me into adulthood and I only began to write when I was in my late twenties. I had a young family by then and was working in pre-school education. I was commissioned to write a series of newspaper features on pre-schooling and I've never forgotten the feeling that welled inside me when I saw my name in print for the first time. Instant addiction.
I'm a good listener
I'm genuinely interested in hearing other's peoples stories. I've been accused of garnering nuggets of information to use in my books but that's untrue. Such confessional stories never transfer onto the page. If they do, they become stilted or self-conscious, probably because I know the people involved and this fact inhibits my writing. A real-life incident can be inspirational but it will become so distilled in the process of turning it into fiction that it's unrecognisable by the time the book is finished. My novel Stolen Child was inspired by a real-life incident from my childhood. I'd seen a photograph in a newspaper of a child in her mother's arms. Her father was standing beside her but she looked confused and frightened. My mother told me she'd been stolen when she was three months old. Four years later she'd been found and reunited with her parents. I remember thinking how terrifying that must be - to be removed from the woman she believed to be her mother and handed over to strangers, who were her own flash and blood. Decades later, I saw that photo in the newspaper's archives and the little girl's expression was exactly as I'd remembered.
When I'm working on a book I don't wonder if my readers will like it
Readers have such diverse opinions on the books they read. I've become even more conscious of this fact through the evolution of social media. Gone are the days when a book was reviewed only by a literary reviewer. Nowadays, anyone who wishes to express an opinion on a writer's work can do so through a myriad of online sites. Readers can now bestow a one-star ranking on a writer because a book hasn't downloaded properly onto his or her Kindle - or write an insightful review that will shine across a writer's day - but it's also proof positive that I can't please everyone. And, so, I banish all thoughts of how my readers will react and just get on with writing my book.
I'm shy but most people refuse to believe this fact
I've acquired enough social skill to see me through the big occasions but I prefer one-to-one conversations in quiet spaces. When I enter a crowded reception room and the noise rushes up to greet me I always feel, in that first terrifying moment, that I'm the only person there who doesn't know anyone.
My most memorable stay in an artist's retreat almost turned me into a vegetarian
Cill Rialaig is an artist's retreat perched on the edge of a wild and magnificent headland in Kerry and I - having escaped for a fortnight from family and responsibility - was determined to enjoy my free time there. When I stepped out of my car a tiny, orphaned lamb began to bleat piteously at my heels. I slammed the cottage door in his face and said, 'No…no… no!' Famous last words.
For two weeks I fed him from a bottle five times a day, rising at dawn for the first feed. A lamb bleat outside a bedroom window beats even the most strident alarm clock. He came into my cottage every afternoon and lay under my stove, listening to my CD of Emmylou Harris. Cute may be the word that comes to mind - but perish the thought and think about the night I allowed him to sleep inside because a gale was blowing and he lived under a bush, facing the Atlantic. Think rubber gloves, disinfection, buckets of water and a mop. Think exhaustion.
When I drove home he ran after my car until his little legs collapsed. I cried loudly as I gazed back at him through my rear view mirror and tried not to think that a day could come when he'd end up on my plate, garnished with mint.
I'm a lark, at my desk early in the morning.
I live close by the sea in a village called Malahide. When I have difficulty unpicking a plot I lace up my walking shoes and go for a walk along the coast. Usually, after about fifteen minutes, the cloud in my head clears and I can see my way forward. But by four in the afternoon I'm a husk. Nothing else to do then but head for the village to unwind in my favourite coffee bar.
I used to be a journalist and magazine editor
The magazine specialised on the fashion industry. I loved interviewing fashion designers but I was also fascinated by the weavers and manufacturers and trend forecasters. I enjoyed travelling to fashion shows around Europe but I wanted to write fiction and I couldn't combine the two. I decided to leave my job and, almost overnight, my world became silent and solitary. My phone stopped ringing, my car stayed stationary in the driveway, I took long walks along the coast and interviewed myself instead of rushing into hotels to interview others, attended book launches instead of fashion shows - and, gradually, adjusted to a new way of life. Since then I've made lifelong friends with other writers. I'm involved with various writing groups, hold creative writing workshops and have served for four years as a director on the board of the Irish Writers' Centre.
I wrote twelve books for pre-teens and young adults
My first books were for younger readers, aimed at a ten to early teenage readership. It's quite a few years since I last wrote for that age group and, nowadays, beautiful young women with babies in slings and strollers tell me how much they enjoyed reading my books when they were children. Time seems to have grown a pair of relentless and ever-faster beating wings. I've written another book for young adults but I keep putting it aside reluctantly as the deadline for another adult novel looms. I visit schools on a regular basis to talk to the pupils about writing their own books. Despite their interest in iPads and other gadgets, I'm glad to say they are still reading and enjoying books. Their enthusiasm always sends me home on a high, vowing to complete my own book one of these days…
When I finish a book I never want to read it again
The exception to this rule is Sleep Sister. I wrote a shortened version of it some years ago, published under the title When the Bough Breaks. Reading it again was an almost surreal experience, like reading the work of a stranger but knowing the characters and the ending. It was such a pleasure to meet those characters again and give them a new, extended lease of life.
Author Biography -Laura Elliot
Laura Elliot is the author of five best-selling novels, Fragile Lies, The Prodigal Sister, Stolen Child, The Betrayal and her most recent novel, Sleep Sister. Her books have been widely translated and she has ghost written a number of high profile non-fiction books.
Aka June Considine, she is the author of twelve books for pre-teens and young adults. Her short stories have been broadcast on RTE's Fiction 15 series and have appeared in a number of teenage anthologies. She has also worked as a journalist and magazine editor.
She has a grown-up family of three and lives with her husband Sean in Malahide, Co Dublin.