By Claire Polders
“There’s a wall between you and your writing,” my literary agent in Amsterdam told me over a cup of strong Dutch coffee at her kitchen table.
I was twenty-seven and had just finished my first novel. She was near the end of her career and had brought Don DeLillo and Paul Auster to Dutch audiences.
“What wall?” I asked.
I’d given myself completely to my story, or so I thought. I’d carried my flawed characters through escalating troubles until they changed in ways n...
Published on October 04, 2024 04:00