I blame it on The Lake House.
Off writing that is.
I was supposed to be embellishing my latest book, a long-awaited sequel to my popular 'cozy' The Agatha Christie Book Club.
I had just one week off, camping with the hubby and kids, and big plans to capture every little detail I could find—the colour of people's hair, their turn of phrase, the way they used their hands and lips and eyes and words.
As a longtime novelist working from home, alone in my sunroom with nothing but my own reflection from the computer screen to draw from, these kinds of holidays—immersed in the beating heart of the real world—are essential, not just for my sanity, but for embellishing my books.
They awaken my inner-Thesaurus and add colour to an otherwise greyish story.
Oooh, that woman has a funny way of walking, I'll scribble that down for safekeeping. What did that guy just yell at his wife? I love it, it's a keeper!
It was all supposed to be recorded in the little notebook I brought along. The one that came back empty, along with the sandy sheets and the scungy tomato sauce bottle. Yet my brain is now abuzz with stunning descriptions and extraordinary characters; it's just a pity they're the characters from someone else's novel!
So I blame it all on you Ms Morton.
And while I thank you for the riveting read and the enjoyment of your story, I can't say I appreciated the distraction. Although I do respect the lesson I have now learned: Next time I go on holidays to work on a book, I'm leaving other people's books behind!
Happy conjuring everyone...
xo Christina
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