This section is for people who are interested in the writing process. It's better to have read Tell Me No Secrets first as there will be spoilers!

1. The first draft is full of energy and enthusiasm but often has far too many ideas that detract from the focus of the story. It also contains scenes that don't move the plot on. This might be because they are part of the 'ordinary world' and are written to deepen the writer's understanding of character rather than the reader's. TMNS has a flashback at the end of the first fifteen chapters. The first flashback I wrote that didn't end up in the final novel was this one -

We are doing a project.  It’s called ‘What did William Wallace do for Scotland?’  Monica has stencilled the title and I am colouring it in blue and white like the Scottish flag.  Faye’s eyes are red rimmed and her nose runs constantly.  She pulls a soggy tissue from the sleeve of her blouse and blows into it then she carries on drawing Celtic crosses around the border.

‘You shouldn’t suck the ends of your hair, Grace,’ Monica tells me.  ‘It weakens it.’  She doesn’t look at me as she speaks but continues to write about Wallace’s last battle.

I push my hair back from my shoulders and turn my head towards the sun.  It’s shining through the large picture windows and melting the ice that’s gathered on the inside.  It catches on the clasp in Orla’s hair; a row of fake diamonds that dance and sparkle like the real thing.  Orla is supposed to be researching the weapons Wallace used but instead she is doodling on a piece of paper.  Suddenly she jerks up straight and looks at the three of us, her eyes darting from one to the other.  ‘I know,’ she says.  ‘I can write the story of Wallace and the Queen.  She didn’t like the English either.  That would have given them something in common.’  She pushes in around the poster size sheet of paper that Monica has sectioned off, each spot ear marked for a different aspect of Wallace’s history.  She points to a blank square. ‘I can use this space.’

‘That’s for what happened next,’ Faye says.

‘Well we can change it.’

‘Wallace and the Queen never met, Orla,’ Monica says, pulling the paper away from her.  ‘She’s not relevant to the story.’

‘We can make them meet.’

Monica flashes her a scathing look.  ‘Then it wouldn’t be true.’

Orla sticks her tongue out at Monica’s bent head and walks off to speak to Miss Durkin who is sitting at the front marking our arithmetic jotters.

Three boys are working at the table next to us.  Euan is drawing, Eric and Callum are out of their seats flicking through text books on the display stand.  They’re talking about football and every so often their voices are raised as they argue a point.

‘He was off side.’

‘No, he wasn’t!  And anyway the ref was right there.’

‘Aye well, my dad says the ref needs glasses.’

‘I hope you two boys aren’t wasting time?’ Miss Durkin shouts and they pipe back down again.

I feel at a loose end.  Monica and Faye are head to head, locked in the happy company of like minds.  They are sharing Faye’s pencils, the ones she got for her tenth Birthday.  They have her name printed lengthways along the spine.  Orla says Faye and Monica belong to a mutual appreciation society and it certainly sounds like it.

‘That’s a good drawing,’ Faye says.

‘Yours is better,’ Monica replies.  ‘You use colour better than I do.’

Euan calls me over.  ‘Monica not letting you draw anything?’

I shrug.  I’m considered to be the best drawer in the class.  ‘I don’t care.’  I stand beside him and look at his work.

‘Don’t bother,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘Pointing out the mistakes.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’  I study his drawings.  The page is covered with different action scenes, cartoon style, speech bubbles coming out of their mouths.

‘We’re not doing much writing,’ he says.  ‘It’s Wallace’s story told in pictures.’

‘It’s good,’ I say.  ‘I really like it.’

‘Do you want to help?  Eric can’t draw and Callum has his finger up his arse.’

I stifle a giggle and look over at Callum who is furiously scratching his bum.  ‘Euan that’s a rude word,’ I whisper through my fingers.  ‘If Miss Durkin catches you she’ll go nuts.’

‘She never catches me and anyway,’ he points behind me.  ‘Orla’s talking to her.’

I turn around and see that he’s right.  ‘But Miss Durkin,’ Orla is saying.  ‘I’ll be using my imagination.’

Miss Durkin looks over the top of her reading glasses.  ‘This is a history project, Orla.  I’m looking for facts.’

‘Well Einstein says imagination is more important than knowledge,’ Orla counters.  Miss Durkin goes to speak.  ‘And you said that we shouldn’t believe everything we read.’

Miss Durkin’s lips pucker together.  She’s weakening.

‘And if I were to title it, Wallace and the Queen, what if? Then that would make it alright, wouldn’t it?’

Miss Durkin shakes her head and laughs.  ‘You’ve convinced me Orla,’ she says.  ‘Go on then.’

Orla skips back to her seat just as Monica notices I’m not in mine.  She reaches over and takes Euan’s pencil from my hand.  ‘Grace what are you doing helping him?  You’re supposed to be colouring in the letters in the title.’  Her eyes skim over Euan’s work.  ‘Euan MacIntosh,’ she says.  ‘Your spelling leaves a lot to be desired.’

He looks her up and down like she’s not worth bothering with then gestures behind her.  ‘You’d do better minding your own business.’

Monica’s eyes widen at the sight of Orla wrestling the paper from Faye’s soggy palms.  She begins to write her heading in bold, black script.

‘What are you doing, Orla?’  Monica tries to snatch the paper back but Orla moves her body in to block her.

‘Miss Durkin says it’s fine.’

Monica frowns and tries to gather herself, smoothing her hands over her hair, right to the ends of her two perfect plaits.  ‘This will completely ruin it,’ she says, her voice catching the edge of a tremor.

‘Yes, it will,’ Faye agrees, sneezing into her sleeve.  ‘It will.’

Orla ignores them, leans onto her elbows and starts to speak the story aloud.  ‘It was during the freezing month of December that Wallace first met the French Queen.’

Monica looks at me, her lower lip wobbling.  ‘Grace stop her,’ she says.

I don’t answer.  My eyes slide towards the window where fat snowflakes are just beginning to fall from a heavy winter sky.

Miss Durkin comes over to check on us.  ‘Everything alright girls?’

Monica bursts in to tears.

What this flashback does is to show the characters in action when they were children, before the trouble started. Already lines are being drawn. The novel would have to have been twice as long for it to have ended up in the final draft. It doesn't add pace or intrigue; nor does it move the plot on. It was one of the first scenes to be ditched.

2. Writing is all about rewriting. The following is the original draft of the scene towards the beginning of Chapter 2 where Grace comes in to work and talks to Euan about Orla's phone call.

Euan is waiting.  I start to talk.  ‘I’ve been thinking on the walk over here.  What’s the worry?  Ella is growing up, like you reminded me, but we can still communicate.’ I hang my jacket up on the stand. ‘We can do that. We can talk.  She’s not so awful with me.’  I look to him for confirmation. His face is non-committal. ‘And Orla?  Well why would she want to rock any boats?  What could she possibly have to gain?’  I squint at the gauge on the kettle then press the switch to on. ‘What motive could she possibly have for digging up the past?  I mean really?’  I let out a breath. ‘Coffee?’

‘Please.’

‘So tonight, I’m going to go home, make Ella’s favourite meal, keep everyone calm and then just ask her if we can have a chat.  In fact, I’ll say it to Daisy and Ella and then it won’t look like I’m picking on her.’

Euan moves his head from side to side.  ‘Sounds good,’ he says.

‘And then Orla.’  I look at him and he raises his eyebrows, waits.  ‘If she rings again, I’m going to make it clear that I don’t want to hear from her.  “I don’t want you to ring again,” I’ll say.  We’re grown up women for God’s sake.  What’s she going to do? Harass me?  Stalk me?  Shout our secret from the rooftops?’  I stop ranting, sit down and look straight ahead.  ‘You know what?  I think I over reacted.’

‘Well...’  Euan looks doubtful.

‘No really, Euan, I do.  She’s probably embarrassed by the whole thing and’ -

He cuts in.  ‘She was never that easily embarrassed.’

‘She might have changed.’

‘Have you?  Have I?’

‘Changed?’  I think about it.  ‘No, I don’t suppose we have.’

‘Don’t be fooled by her.

‘You really think?’

‘Yeah.’

It’s not what I want to hear and I slump back in my seat.  ‘So what should I do?’

‘Act friendly.  Find out what she wants.’

‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’

‘Exactly.’

‘You really think she might be my enemy?’

‘Think about it, Grace.  Think about how she used to behave.’

I think about it. ‘She wasn’t all bad.’

‘She had you dancing to her tune.’

‘Not always,’ I say slowly.  ‘Sometimes it felt like a tug of war between the two of -’

While there's nothing wrong with this scene, it doesn't up the tension as it should. Firstly, there's no need for Grace to discuss Ella with Euan. All that does is diminish the importance of Orla's phone call. Secondly, it's time to increase the element of mystery and give the reader an indication that Orla has information that could damage Grace. When I rewrote it, I took these points into account and it ended up like this -

'Any more calls from Orla?'

I shake my head. ‘I’ve been thinking on the walk over here. What’s the worry?' I hang my jacket up on the stand and look to him for confirmation. His face is non-committal. ‘Why would she want to rock any boats? What could she possibly have to gain?’ I check the water level in the kettle then press the switch to on. ‘What motive could she have for digging up the past? I mean really?’ I let out a breath. ‘Coffee?’

‘Please.’

‘I don't think she'll ring again.’  I look at him and he raises his eyebrows, waits.  ‘But if she does, I’m going to make it clear that I don’t want to hear from her. We’re grown up women for God’s sake. What’s she going to do? Harass me? Stalk me? Shout our secret from the rooftops?’ I stop ranting, sit down and look straight ahead. ‘You know what? I think I over reacted.’

‘Well...’  Euan looks doubtful.

‘No really, Euan, I do. She’s probably embarrassed by the whole thing and’ -

He cuts in. ‘She was never that easily embarrassed.’

‘She might have changed.’

‘Have you? Have I?’

‘Changed?’ I think about it. ‘Yes... and no.’

‘Don’t be fooled by her. You know what she's capable of.'

I think back to some of the lies she told and the people she hurt and I give an involuntary shiver. 'Do you think she's intending to come back to the village?' I swallow the lump in my throat. 'Do you think she's going to say something about Rose?'

'I don't know.' His face is concerned. 'But unless she's had a personality transplant, I think that anything is possible.'

It’s not what I want to hear and I slump back in my seat. ‘So what should I do?’

‘Act friendly. Find out what she wants.’

‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’

‘Exactly.’

‘You really think she might be my enemy?’

‘Think about it. Think about how she used to behave.’

I think about it. ‘She wasn’t all bad.’

‘She had you dancing to her tune.’

‘Not always,’ I say slowly. ‘Sometimes it felt like a tug of war between the two of -’