I’ve just got proof copies of my new novel The Carer– nice and early as it’s not published until July. I described it in my last posting – basically it’s a comedy about class, and death, and family secrets. And quite a lot about guilt. And it has a great big twist in the middle. But it got me thinking about writing contemporary fiction at this point in time, during these ghastly unfolding events, and how much one reflects these in ones story.
For instance, just typing the word “Trump” makes me feel nauseous; it’s like finding a slug in ones salad. I simply don’t want him there in my novel, amongst my characters. Nor do I want the B word mentioned. This is partly because events are moving so swiftly …
Deborah Moggach
Both my parents were writers – my father wrote naval history, biographies and children’s books; my mother wrote and illustrated children’s books. I had three sisters, and we grew up to the sound of typewriters tapping in the veranda, where our parents sat side by side, working. I wasn’t a particularly writerly child, however. I preferred playing with cars and animals. I didn’t like girly things and my hero was William Brown.