I still can’t settle on my next big project.

Part of that is because I have so many things out in the pipline already sold and waiting to be published, and part of it is that I overloaded my brain last year in a frenzy of writing that seems to have, temporarily I hope, emptied me out a bit.

At times like this, I fall back into old patterns, familiar characters. The last time it happened I ended up writing a Carnacki collection.

This time, I’m back with Scottish P.I. Derek Adams. I wrote a novella back in early March that’s out on submission, and I’m working on a new story right now that’s growing like Topsy. It was just going to be a short story, but it’s just crested 10K words and gaining plot as it goes. It’s definitely going to be another novella, and might even be a novel if the stars are right.

I’m going way back to my roots with this one. I began it after a Facebook thread about selling my soul for three pints of beer and a packet of crisps, and I wondered, ‘what if…’

Derek came along, said he’d take it from there, and away we went.

Stepping into his shoes is like putting on a favorite jacket; it just feels comfortable to me, and I fall quickly into the voice and speech patterns of the Glasgow man.

The Glasgow in my Derek Adams stories is an idealised one, more the place I lived in forty years ago than it is now.

But as I said, I’m comfortable there, and so is Derek.

I’m excited to see where this one goes from here.

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