MJH: In 2009, you founded Fighting Words, the creative writing centre in Dublin, where free writing classes are held for youngsters. Could you tell me a little about Fighting Words and why you started it?

RD: I co-founded Fighting Words with Sean Love, who used to be the Director of Amnesty (Ireland). I suppose, once a teacher always a teacher – it’s a congenital ailment. I was in San Francisco about six years ago, and I went down to see Dave Egger’s centre, 826valenica. I thought it was fantastic, so simple and effective. I thought it would be great to do something similar in Dublin but did nothing about it until the next time I visited San Francisco, and this time I stayed a few days and took notes. I chatted to Sean about it when I got back to Dublin, and we almost immediately started wandering the inner city, a couple of times a week, looking for possible premises. I think I did it – and do it – because I find it exhilarating, to encounter these children and young people outside the context of school – although they come in school groups. A friend of mine, a film director, was involved in a summer camp we ran, on scripting, then making films with mobile phones, and he said that watching the kids work reminded him of why he’d become involved in film making in the first place. I feel the same way. I watched a session recently, when the kids, aged about ten, were asked what made a good story. This little girl put up her hand and said, ‘Conflict and resolution’, which was hilarious but also a bit frightening. The school system insists that children somehow ‘understand’ what makes a story before they let them write and discover for themselves. At Fighting Words we encourage them to write first, and then look at what they’ve done. I sit every Wednesday afternoon with a group of teenagers who just write. It’s called Write Club. They write; I write. I wander around and chat to them about what they’re doing – fantasy novels, scripts. I go back to my desk and write. It’s a great way to spend the afternoon.

MJH: Could you tell me a little about your new novel, The Dead Republic (which is due out in April 2010) and something about the writing of it? I’m interested in the ‘aboutness’ of the book – the subject matter - but also the mechanics of its making. How long it took, whether it came easily, or whether it was particularly difficult to write; whether you were working on other books at the same time, and, if it was difficult, why?

RD: The final part of a trilogy is always going to be tricky, I suppose. Here’s the gamble: are there three solid books in this character? Am I capable of sustaining the concentration and enthusiasm to get through three fat books? I started the first book, A Star Called Henry, in 1995; so, it’s a long time. The final book deals, to an extent, with the Northern Ireland Peace Process, but I don’t know if had that name, or any name, in 1995. Things seemed to be happening – ceasefires, talks about talks etc – but I grew up with ceasefire announcements, so the last book, The Dead Republic, was taking shape as I wrote the first two. Then the bringing it all together – I brought a character from the first book into the final one, then had a horrible thought: I killed him in the second book. I was terrified – what would I do? I kept going, three, four, five, six pages a day, and, luckily, when I re-read the first two books, there was no sign of my having killed the man. I think the last book took two years. I knew by then how it would end. I realised quite early, in 1995, that the trilogy would be, somehow, about identity. This became much more important – to me – as I wrote The Dead Republic. I wrote two books for children and another novel, Paula Spencer, in the break between the second book, Oh Play That Thing, and the final one. I didn’t want to jump straight into the final book.

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