I’ll be attending this year’s CrimeFest in Bristol, and participating in a panel on the Friday (12.30 – 13.20) called Private Eyes And Lone Wolves: Lacking The Backing Of The Law along with fellow writers Frances Brody, Rosie Claverton, Cal Moriarty and Ruth Downie. Between 14.10 and 14.30 on the same day I’ll also be giving a talk about the blurred borderline between crime and horror fiction.
There’s some good can come from waking at 5.30 am with a full bladder, or an accidental kick in the shins, or the cat deciding that your head is the place where it wants to sit. This morning I drifted in and out of consciousness, now eyeing the LCD of the clock radio, now fending off a cat tail like a supersize feather duster, and ideas accumulated. Swathes of dialogue, scenes, plot points, possibilities. I opened my mind and sucked it all down. The drawback, of course, is that you then have to get up and write it all down, or risk dropping back into sleep and forgetting the lot. I usually have a notebook and a pen by the bed. This morning? Of course not.