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There are probably a dozen seminal influences on my writing. Off the top of my head, here are some of them:

Robert Fripp: As a would-be musician he admitted he was tone deaf and had no sense of rhythm, but ‘the music will out.’ He just worked at it until it worked.

I love his extremely idiosyncratic, singular approach to his craft. He doesn’t play the blues, or jazz, and he barely plays rock as anyone else understands it. He can only be Robert Fripp.

Punk rock: The idea that you can create and publish your own work, without regard for gatekeepers or arbiters. It set me free.

Jane Austen: The ultimate people-watcher. Everyone in literature owes Jane.

Myths: The norse myths, the greek myths. I devoured these as a child and they still inform what I write. Anyone you meet might be a god or a nymph or a valkyrie, perhaps enjoying a sabbatical from valhalla or some other godly abode.

After reading these myths for years I then discovered and devoured Lord of the Rings, especially the appendices: the dwarves especially.

Family: my mother taught me to read before I was three. My gran sat me on her knee and read stories to me over and over again – ┬áreading a story fifteen over times wasn’t unusual if I really wanted to hear something again and again. Between them they taught me to love stories.

On the other hand, most of what my dad taught me was just plain wrong, and it took me decades to get over the sixteen years I spent living in his house. But he made me a writer.


There are other ifluences, but these will do for now.

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