A foreign correspondent builds memories out of blood and corpses. Often they turn to nightmares.
While working on my second Palestinian crime novel, A Grave in Gaza
, I sometimes wept as I wrote. I used to think that meant I was a damned good writer. Now I know it was my trauma, collected over a decade of monthly visits to Gaza, seeping onto the page.
I hope that makes it a better novel. I know it saved me from the… Continue