I went out for dinner last night with a former flatmate (Catherine) and a loud, Australian friend of hers (Pippa) who I’d never met before.
Catherine has never made any bones about not reading the kind of stuff I write, but this Pippa nearly recoiled in revulsion when told it fell into the ‘horror’ category, (I prefer ‘supernatural thriller’ myself, but I accept that that’s splitting hairs.) So over starter, main course and dessert I was peppered with questions about why on earth I would write that kind of stuff (answer: I’ve always done it); where I get my ideas from (sometimes they are things that happen, sometimes they just come to me); and whether my parents are proud of what I do (of course they are – what kind of question is that?)
The question which stayed most in my mind though was: “Do you ever frighten yourself?”
My answer, given with only the hint of a smile: “Frequently”
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