A friend of mine told me this story. We were sitting in the back room of a restaurant, which was the bar and snacks, drinking white wine, catching up with one another. Cass had asked me how my novel was going, and I'd said, well, I was writing a lot, but I was worried that nothing ever happened. People had social gatherings, and talked and thought, but that was about all. Still, I was planning on putting in a suicide, that should make for a bit of action, it was at least a violent event. But then, perhaps it would seem contrived. When I get started I can talk for hours about my novel. But I don't want advice. Just reassurance.
Halligan, Marion, Tale Telling, Kunapipi, 13(3), 1991.