Stumbling across a new story

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As part of my plan to stop being the laziest person on the planet, I have embraced spring and tried to get my butt outside for a walk and some fresh air as often as possible.

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I have always appreciated the little things, such as the chirping birds, the blossom on the trees, spring flowers and the scent of fresh cut grass and I try to make sure I have my camera or phone on me to capture a few shots.

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Last weekend’s wander wasn’t the most picturesque, but we did stumble across what I believe is an old part of the Norfolk Lunatic Asylum. It is currently standing in a derelict state and from the signs up around the grounds work will soon commence to convert the building either into flats or office space.

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Of course it had my writer’s imagination running wild. What terrible tales could take place within the walls? I have the pictures and will return to them at some point to craft a story.

Watch this space.

Do you really know your neighbours?

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A friend of mine has been engrossed with the news of Ariel Castro, the monster in Ohio who held three women captive in his house for ten years. She admits to finding it morbidly fascinating and cannot comprehend how he could have gotten away with it for so long.

As I pointed out to her yesterday, there is no telling how many other people are getting away with things, because truth is, unless they are caught we will never know. And as another friend added, people talk about the perfect murder, but if it has been committed we wouldn’t know, because if we did it would no longer be perfect.

It serves to prove that we really don’t know what our friends and family; neighbours and work colleagues are up to behind closed doors and as a writer with a highly imaginative mind, I find it intriguing.

The sweet little old lady shop assistant who serves me in the supermarket, how do I know she doesn’t keep her husband’s body hacked up in pieces in her freezer, having once poisoned his morning cup of tea?

The taxi driver who gave me a lift home last night, perhaps he sometimes likes to drive out to the woods, strip naked and howl at the moon.

The nerdy guy at work, who is always in such a rush to cycle home, is it because he has to feed the woman he has chained up in his house?

And how about the dog walker who passes my house twice a day? He looks innocent enough, but how do I know he doesn’t sleep in a coffin and keep vials of blood in his fridge?

It is fascinating trying to figure out what makes people tick and as a thriller writer it gives me plenty of material to play with.

Of course, the only crimes I commit are on paper.

Now I must go, I need to sharpen my knives… sorry, I mean my pencil.