INSPIRATION? or PERSPIRATION?

INSPIRATION? or PESPIRATION?

Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety nine percent perspiration. Thomas Edison

I have no illusions about my status - I am definitely not a genius! But I think Thomas Edison was not far wrong with his observation of the ratio between sudden sparks of inspiration and the amount of dogged hard graft needed to produce any work of significance.

As a writer I can usually get the words to flow but only occasionally do I put something down that really pleases me. And the inspiration usually comes from the landscape that surrounds me.

I fee l myself privileged to live in such a wonderful place. It's not everyone's cup of tea - the beaches are mainly shingle, and when the tide goes out, there's often sticky mud that takes you unawares; the landscape is mainly flat and as for Dungeness... it's a Marmite sort of place. I know many people find it weird and alien - but that's why I love it. 

So, when I get stuck, with a plot-line, or need to get a character, or his motives, clear in my my mind, I go to the beach: Pett Level, Dog's Hill, Rye Harbour, Dungeness. They all calm and clear my mind and, most often, provide me with the inspiration to perspire over the next piece of writing. 

RANKIN'S INTERROGATION

Something a little different this time. I'm promoting my ebook, BLOOD ON THE TIDE, by offering it FREE as a kindle for a limited period. So here is an extract from the book.

(Sapper Rankin is part of a bomb disposal team. He's been accused of involvement in a serious incident and is being questioned by DI 'Bonnie' Parker.)

‘So he won’t talk either?’ Superintendent Stout was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake after all. Bringing in the two detectives sitting across the desk in his office was starting to look like an error of judgment.

          Parker looked even more crumpled and crestfallen than usual. ‘Afraid not, Sir. Either he refuses to answer my questions or says he doesn’t know anything.’

          ‘What about the squaddie, Rankin?’

          ‘He’s still in the cells, Sir.’

          ‘Well get him out and have another go at him. Really lean on him this time.’

‘I told that other detective… Russell… I know nothing about them two Germans. How long are you going to keep me here?’

          Parker got up and walked slowly round to the other side of the battered table, leant down close to the soldier and whispered directly into his ear. ‘We’ll keep you as long as we need to.’  Then he stood up and shouted: ‘SO START BLOODY TALKING!’ walked back to his chair and sat down. He pulled a cigarette from the packet on the table, put it between his lips and lit it. Rankin was visibly shaken by the outburst but kept his mouth tight shut. Parker blew out a plume of smoke then spoke, more quietly this time.

          ‘Let’s try again. We know you drove the lorry that Wolfgang and Ludwig used to dump the body in the water at Compass Point. We also know you drove it to Shell Bay to meet them on the Moonshine, and I dare say you were at the building site as well as at the brickworks.’ He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side but Rankin remained silent, his arms folded protectively across his chest. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be able to prove this before too long.

          ‘The fact that you were seen on Moonshine with the brothers at Shell Bay is pretty damning but when you fell overboard at Nottery Quay and we fished you out of the drink it is fairly conclusive that you are tied up with them, don’t you think?’ Rankin sat silently, looking down at his hands. Parker banged his fist so hard on the table, the empty tea mugs leapt in the air and a pen clattered to the floor. ‘WELL?’