Crime novels often come from a dark place. Mine is no exception.
My debut novel, A Murder Of Crows, was inspired by a childhood experience: I found the dead body of a man hanging from a tree in the countryside. The year was 1979. I was nine years old.
Fast forward some 38 years later and now this book, once a dream, is now a reality. It feels strange to reflect on how it came to pass that a quiet and thoughtful little boy saw something that day which took him all that time to put into words, all 94,428 of them.
I used to pretend that I wasn't traumatised by that dark day in the country, but having written this book I now realise that perhaps it affected me more than I cared to admit. But at the same time I wonder - if that day had not come to pass, then what might I have done with my life? Would I still be filled with joy at seeing my book in print? Would I be writing this blog? Would this website even exist?
The truth is, I don't know.
What I do know is that the events of that day inspired a story, and that story became a book, and that book is now inspiring others to write. And now there's a website too. Feel free to browse and enjoy...