Writer - Paul Hurley

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I'd like to welcome you to my interview with Paul Hurley.  Enjoy.

Paul Hurley

Hello Paul, can you please introduce yourself?

I'm Paul Hurley, from Winsford, Cheshire.

How long have you been writing?

14 years.

What first got you interested in writing?

Editing a police magazine.

What genre(s) do you write? 

Any, but mainly local and national history.

Are there any genres that you don't enjoy writing?

Technical. 

What types of things do you write?

A novel, local history books, magazines and newspapers.

Have you ever had anything published?  

Liverpool Soldier, 12 local history books, autobiography currently with a publisher.  They can be found on my website www.paul-hurley.co.uk.

Have you sent your writing to agents/publishers?  Have you received any rejections?

Many.

Would you consider self-publishing/e-publishing? 

No, old fashioned publishing.

Who/what influences your writing?  Where do you get your inspiration from?

My creative mind.

How do you come up with your characters’ names and personalities?

Many ways, phone books, the internet, relatives and friends.

Do you have a writing routine?

I write just when I feel like it.

Do you start out with a complete idea for your stories, or do you just start writing and hope for the best?

Both.

Do you have an editing process?  Do you have someone else read over your work?  Do you read your work aloud to yourself in front of the mirror? 

Any.

What do you enjoy the most/least about writing?

I don't know really.

Have you ever attended an open mic night for spoken word performers as either an observer or performer?  

Yes, I quite enjoyed it but some of the people present were there because they were a bit sad.

How important is it for you to share your writing?

Not at all.

What is the most valuable piece of advice you’ve been given with regards to writing?

Never pay to be published.

What advice could you give to a new writer?

Start with a good creative writing course.

Apart from writing, what are your other hobbies/interests?

Holidays, classic cars.

If you could have written anything, what do you wish that could have been?

Harry Potter or 50 Shades of Gray.

What types of things do you read?  Do you think your writing reflects your book tastes?

No, I don't like other peoples novels, I prefer biographies and non-fiction.

What are you working on at the moment?

A police novel

A war novel

Is there anything else you’d like to add?

Not really, I write for fun but it would be nice to be famous.

Would you be able to provide a short piece of your work? 

Jenny’s War. 

From Land Army to Spy 

A new novel that I dip in and out of. 

Jenny kicked her heels into the crumbling bricks of the old wall. Red dust fluttered to the damp flagstones of the smelly entry. It was like red flour she thought dreamily noticing that it became redder as it floated on the wet brown surface. At 16 she was a few months younger than her friend Sarah who sat facing her astride the old wall. The smell of the entry was of grime, dog dirt and rubbish, an unpleasant smell to the casual visitor, but to Jenny and Sarah it was part of their life. That and the overriding smell of the Cains’ brewery. This was a part of Liverpool not unfamiliar with crime, grime and poverty. But neither was it unfamiliar with community spirit. Neighbourliness was inbred and respect for the church universal. 

Jenny shot out her right arm and put the fingers of her left hand under her nose to represent a moustache. 

“Seig Heil Mein Fuherer du bist der Schweinhund… 

Sarah looked up sharply. 

“No Jenny, please, not even in fun, it’s just not funny, not funny at all. Anyway,” she said lightening, “your grammar left a lot to be desired.” She smiled at her friend, although the pain that the words had brought to her was plain to see. “Come on, let's go and do a bit more, I’ll make you a passable German speaker yet.” 

The girls jumped down from the wall and made their way up the yard; the brown hens flapped their wings irritably as the two girls interrupted their search for titbits amongst the dark York stone flags. They walked through the house acknowledging Jenny’s mother as she worked in the kitchen and then her father as he poked at the fire in the living room. In the front parlour, they sat at the old scrubbed table that Jenny’s father used as a desk. Jenny pulled her exercise book across the worn blue velvet tablecloth and resumed her German lessons.

© Paul Hurley

Thank you Paul.