More often than not it's not easy to examine the bits and pieces of your own past and sort the wheat from the chaff in order to see what and which event might bear writing about.
`There's a book in that,' announced my Thursday Friend when we met in the city for our monthly coffee catch-up which due to a series of unrelated events had turned into lunch.
We had been bewailing the fact that it was invariably difficult to launch into the next writing project and Thursday Friend had said that finishing a book usually left her depressed.
`Like having a baby,' I agreed because in fact a new book and a new baby are remarkably similar.
So we determinedly discussed what our next project/s might possibly be.
Then we talked about the intricacies of print on demand sites and the technical problems with book covers there encountered.
And then somehow or other we spoke of things past and I found myself telling her the gory details of a neighbour problem from years ago which featured escaping goats, poisoned cats and accusations of stress induced by apples that needed to be fingerprinted, not to mention evil children who kept their neighbours under surveillance at all times.
That's when my Thursday Friend ventured to suggest that the story, fantastic and hard to believe though it clearly was, might harbour the nucleus of a new novel!
Nonsense I thought. But then I thought again - and of course began to wonder.
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