evidence of things found

My mind wanders.  Probably more than my feet do, if we’re being honest.  Why else do you think I used to tweet with the hashtag #confessionsofalazywriter?  

When my mind does wander, things have a habit of catching my attention.  There are often ideas lurking around corners or hiding behind walls, waiting for me to spot them.  Either that or they’ll whisper in my ear when I’m supposed to be paying attention to someone or something else.  Don’t even get me started on the time my dentist’s stomach rumbled mid-examination and made me start thinking about cannibals.

The aim here is that I’ll try to capture some of these stray ideas for you and put them on display.  Hopefully, it’ll be a bit of a museum of possibilities.  Some of the things here might eventually go on to become stories.  Others might just live quite happily here for the rest of their lives.  We’ll have to wait and see.


Mount Grace Priory

I spotted this little guy in the ruins at Mount Grace Priory in North Yorkshire.  He looked a bit lost  all amongst all the half fallen walls and yellowing grass.  

After I got back from that particular holiday I was asked if I wanted to write something for a Kensington Gore Halloween anthology and that's where I put him.  He still seems pretty happy there, in a story called The Offerings, terrorising a man who's meant to be on a stag do.


Watching QI XL the other night, I heard a fact I've not been able to shift from my head since.  At one point in our history, nostalgia was thought to be dangerous.  In fact, in extreme circumstances, it was believed that nostalgia could kill a person.  Now, I don't know how or when, but that is turning up in a story one day.  It officially feels far too good an opportunity to miss out on, doesn't it?  Some happy memory that could actually stop your heart or the thought of someone basically drowning in their own fond remembrances.   Yep, I shall be using that one.  Cheers, the fine people of QI.  You've lit another lightbulb for me.


Last week, Sam went off to Germany with work.  When she came back, we were talking whilst she was unpacking.  She mentioned she'd been staying near The Black Forest.  All that night, I kept thinking I heard something new in the house.  Something that creaked.  Something that scuttled around the bedroom floor and clawed at the door.  It was hard not to imagine it had come back with my wife from the home of so many Grimm Fairy Tales.  Something that stowed away.  Something ancient and more than a little peckish.  One day, I might have to figure out what it is was and find a story for it to live in.