By the time I'm ready to write I've already spent a year or two thinking - I mean thinking in the vaguest possible, least organised sense - about the novel. When I'm out walking, when I'm on buses and trains, when I'm supposed to be listening to someone who is boring me, I think - daydream would be more accurate - my way into the novel and, above all, into the characters. I never "plot" a narrative, but once the characters have become as real to me as friends and family I feel ready to start.
I write in a cramped, over-stuffed little room in my house in London. The day usually begins around 8 a.m. with strong coffee, the radio news and the papers. By 9 a.m. I've usually managed to get to my desk - unshowered, unshaven and undressed. I've used a computer for 15 years, from the moment I could first afford one, and I compose directly on to the screen. I revise and rewrite constantly, reading from the top each morning (often aloud) in order to get myself into the mood, place and characters. The flexibility of word-processing makes this very easy. I also have the OED on CD-Rom. It's not cheap, but it is the most fantastic reference tool.
I don't write every day. If the spirit isn't moving me I won't go near the computer. If it is, I might write 1,000 words. Occasionally I write more; mostly I write a lot, lot less. I'd like to blame my lack of productivity on the inevitable disruptions - maintenance of life things, work calls, social calls - but to be honest I can waste time effortlessly. I welcome distractions. I don't screen calls and will happily listen to the telecom salespeople trying to interest me in some new service or other.
I used to worry about not getting enough done, but now I believe the right words will come when they're meant to - there's no point in pushing it. The Catastrophist took five years to write. I'd like to have completed it in one or two, but what can you do? When the book's ready it will happen.
I will often skive off - to walk, to see friends, to browse in bookshops, go to the cinema or just doss about the house. But even if I have been working, I tend to stop anyway about 3 p.m. or 4 p.m. My mind just doesn't seem too keen on making any kind of effort after that. So I'll shower and get dressed and have some more coffee and head out for the evening. I tend not to show work in progress to, or discuss it, with anyone except Alexandra Pringle, my agent. I sent her drafts of the early chapters of The Catastrophist, but once I felt I was on the right track I stopped.
When I have a screenplay to write I put aside the novel and will work flat out to get a first draft done in four to six weeks. Then it goes off to the producers and it's usually at least a couple of months before it comes back for the rewrite. By then I may - or may not - have made a little progress on the novel.
Eventually, however, a novel will reach "take-off" point, the moment when you know you have to put aside everything else - scripts, journalism, even family and friends. To do this, I go abroad, somewhere remote, taking my laptop and OED. I rent a flat. I inhabit the story, live with the characters. No more dossing about. It's up by 6 a.m., writing until 1 p.m., a light lunch, a walk in the mountains, back to write until dinner. This is the most satisfying stage of the process, when the book's own momentum drives it forward and the daydream turns into reality.
The Catastrophist, which was shortlisted for the 1998 Whitbread Novel Award, has just been published in paperback by Review