Ned and I are just back in London having run away for a couple of days to Keswick. I was a little nervous about going actually. I mean, I love Keswick but I was worried that I just wouldn’t work as much as I would like there. I am a creature of habit, and each of my novels has been written staring at the Bermondsey roof top and tower block I can see from my window above the kitchen table. Sure, I’ve done plenty of research in the library or in the places the books are set, but the actual graft of getting words down? Kitchen table.
Well, turns out I was worrying unnecessarily. The fact I really needed to get work done punched through that particular mental block and I wrote away very happily, getting my word count done while Ned went into town and made friends with the local chessemongers and butchers. Then in the afternoons we tramped about in the hills till we felt we’d really earned a pint. We even ran into an old friend of Ned and his mothers who runs a guesthouse in town and I handed in a copy of Island to the local museum.
Why am I handing in copies of the book to local museums? It’s not just self-importance. Keswick is where my third book, Island of Bones, is set, so that was another reason to visit. It also features a fictionalised version of the original Keswick Museum which was brand new in 1783. I hope they like it. We’ve taken thousands of pictures of the actual locations that feature in the book, so you never know, if I get my word count’s covered in good time over the weekend I might put up a slide show. A pictorial celebration for publication.In the meantime here is the view from the cabin where we were staying. I’m glad the weather was terrible this morning, or we might have ripped up our return tickets and never come home at all.