I had written four novels without finding a publisher. I was James Herbert’s gardener. His house was splendid. He had a swimming pool. Incidentally, despite literary appearances, he is a very very kind man. He refused to allow us to kill wild rabbits, though they were destroying his garden. My friend said ‘It’s because he writes horror stories that he is rich and famous. Why don’t you try that?’ So I began to write a story about people trapped in a nuclear fallout shelter who were eventually forced to eat each other. But quite a different story came out. I decided to have one of them escape and perhaps rescue the rest. A child I thought at first, but the whole story told through the eyes of a child? A bit boring. A very small adult then. Like my wonderful, heroic, almost magic, very small cousin. But perhaps Morgan, who can walk on cobwebs and monbeams, will decide not to rescue her family after all. Gollancz published ‘Cobwebwalking.’ The great Joanna Goldsworthy was my editor.
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