I write the kind of novel I love to read, one that grips the imagination and that – armed with chocolate and a mug of tea curled up on the sofa – I can’t put down because I’m desperate to know what happens next.  Judging from the peevish letters and emails I get about late nights and missed trains, it seems A Kind of Vanishing does this for readers.

Writing is a struggle. I do anything to avoid that proverbial blank page. I write straight onto a laptop. I use a notebook to scribble down ideas, references, quotes, details like the birthdays and death days of characters. I initially write rather like I speak: going off at tangents, telling ’side-stories’ before returning to the point. Sometimes these are profitable digressions.

Writing is initially a solitary activity, and I need space and time to get going, but the bit I look forward to as both exciting and sometimes painful is the novel being read by a skilled editor (my agent, Philippa Brewster) who has a feel for the narrative and for language. We then work on the text together to give it independent life.

I don’t write every day. I would like to, but I need to earn a living. On writing days I start early in the morning, break for lunch, walk with my dog then carry on until around five.

I carry a camera with me and take photos of anything that halts me in my tracks or inspires me. I am planning and plotting ideas for stories a lot of the time. I take pictures of the places in which my scenes are set. Some of them are on this website.

I don’t feel truly alive if I’m not writing and reading.