As a writer I’m always tempted to try something new. The easiest thing for me is to sit down and write straight fantasy – something like Lady Charlotte’s Dilemma or even the Like Flies trilogy (although when I’m done I find myself spending the next three months trying to untie the plot knots I got myself into!). It’s fun.
But then I get restless. Which is why, one day, I decided to write a thriller. The idea was simple enough. Two sisters go to an idyllic coastal town to investigate a death. The coroner says it was an accident. The victim’s ex-husband says that her boyfriend did it. But as time goes on, the town seems less and less idyllic.
That was the idea. But once I started, the book began to write itself in an entirely different direction. The sisters began to take on a life of their own, with complex and dark back stories. The bad guy insisted he wasn’t so bad after all, and the good guy began to look distinctly evil. And finally, the book insisted it wasn’t about murder, but about something much less dramatic – shame. The kind of shame you feel when you do something awful and no-one knows (but you do). The shame you feel when you’ve successfully projected an image to the world, and now you’re about to be exposed as someone much less delightful. The shame you feel when someone’s treated you as if you’re worthless, and now you think you must be.
Anyway, Shame will be published in a few months. Meanwhile, here’s an excerpt.
Ps…I haven’t had the cover designed yet. But the beach photo is by Photoholgic on Unsplash.