One question authors dread is: Where do you get your ideas? A reasonable enquiry, but often a fiend to answer. Inspiration is a slippery, elusive thing; difficult to pin down in concrete specifics, and infinitely variable. Recently, I faced this question anew, when asked by someone considering supporting me on Patreon. Specifically, he wanted to know where I got the idea for my as-yet-unpublished mystery novel The Balliol Conspiracy.

He asked because for supporters at a certain level, I have just started to serialise this novel in draft form. It’s an exclusive bonus for their patronage, offering the opportunity to read a novel that, in all honesty, I’m rather unsure what to do with. Why am I unsure? Mostly because, as this potential patron pointed out, it sits rather outside my usual oeuvre. It’s a thriller, but it isn’t a gothic horror-thriller of the kind that forms the bulk of my novel output. It sits a genre apart, beginning as an unusual psychological thriller, before evolving into a romantic spy thriller of sorts, akin to something like Hitchcock’s version of The 39 Steps (which added a romantic element absent from John Buchan’s original novel) or North by Northwest.

So why write The Balliol Conspiracy at all, if it’s not really my thing? For a start, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve attempted to go “off-brand”, if you’ll forgive my use of an obscenity. Some years ago, I wrote animal fiction adventure novel Echo and the White Howl. Animal fiction is exceptionally hard to write well, as I discovered. A fascinating and challenging learning experience ensued. I had to go through the manuscript with a fine toothcomb, removing phrases like “couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong”, because, of course, wolves don’t have fingers. Nor could they have knowledge beyond what they would naturally know (no concept of the sea, for instance), yet they need emotional attributes to which human readers can relate: Courage, ambition, anger, love, a sense of humour, and so forth. It was an absolute minefield, but at least I could answer the question of inspiration in a clear, straightforward manner: I wrote it because my youngest son wanted a novel about wolves.

In the case of The Balliol Conspiracy, the question proved much harder to answer. I scratched my head, recalling a conversation with my history-buff adopted brother about how Oliver Cromwell seized the silver of Balliol College in Oxford for his New Model Army during the English Civil War (an incident referenced in BBC classic comedy series Yes Minister episode Doing the Honours). This may have been the spark for the story. Then again, around the same time, whilst directing a TV shoot near Tromso in Norway (of all places), a conversation I had with the cameraman also may have been the genesis of this project. Shivering in temperatures of minus twenty degrees Celsius, he told me about eccentric characters bidding in auctions for unclaimed left luggage at airports; a kind of pot-luck exercise that can lead to the discovery of curious items. This also sparked my interest and informed the premise of the novel.

 

Despite this sort of inspiration, I still can’t quite understand why I persevered with what proved to be an exceptionally difficult writing experience. The main reason I struggled is I was determined, for once, to write a novel that wouldn’t give my mother nightmares. I fought every instinct in my body to make left turns into horror territory, determining that come hell or high water, it would remain at PG levels of suitability (though it is a grown-up book). The Balliol Conspiracy is still a strong, suspenseful, compelling narrative, but damn, it was hard reining in my urge to make it gory and scary.

At its heart, this is a history-based treasure hunt tale, leading to a new lease of life for its bereaved structural engineer protagonist, who has a mysterious compulsion for purchasing and cataloguing suitcases left in airports. I explained this to my potential patron, but he didn’t seem satisfied with the premise, or my vague explanations about inspiration. But because spoilers are against my religion, I didn’t want to reveal anything further, except that the novel also involves Balliol College, the infamous “Galloping Gertie” Tacoma Narrows bridge disaster, and the head of Oliver Cromwell.

Relaying this clutch of eclecticism provoked a frown from my interlocutor. He seemed particularly bemused by how the Tacoma Narrows bridge disaster could intermesh with a story about left luggage and Oliver Cromwell’s head. Again, I didn’t want to get into spoilers, but I reiterated that the protagonist is a bridge structural engineer, and that there are some esoteric reasons why the incident has a place in the novel.

I’m not sure he was convinced, and again, I was left wondering what, if anything, will ultimately become of The Balliol Conspiracy. My wife insists it is a good novel, but it is definitely a one-off, and I don’t think I’ll be showing it to agents or publishers any time soon, as I’m trying to sell myself as a purveyor of gothic horror-thrillers. I may get it properly polished up and self-published at some point, and then my mother will finally have the opportunity to read it (without fear of nightmares). In the meantime, I hope the draft version proves a fun benefit for my Patreon supporters, but with any luck, they resist asking where I get my ideas.

(This article was originally published on Medium.)

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