![]() ![]() I worked on into the night, filled with a romantic sense of myself, the writer heroically driven by a compelling idea, pushing on towards dawn as the city slept. ![]() Within an hour, a strange voice was talking to me from the page. I had no notes, only a scrap, a dreamy notion of what sort of story this would be. At the end of my first week, with all arrangements made, I sat down at a card table by the end of my bed one evening and told myself that I would work continuously through the night until I had completed an entire short story. I had come to do an MA in English at the University of East Anglia, but my overriding purpose was to write fiction. I n 1970, when I was 22, I moved to Norwich and lodged in a small, pleasant room on the edge of the city.
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