If you’re looking for this week’s book giveaway, Catriona McPherson will announce it today. If you’re

looking for What Are You Reading?, come back tomorrow.

Today, it’s an honor to host author Catriona McPherson. She has two books due out this season, and she’s willing to talk about the craziness of doing that. She’s going to address “The Question”. Thank you, Catriona.

The Question
You know the one I mean. The question authors get asked
and mumble incoherently over. The question that seems so straightforward to
readers who look at the incoherently mumbling authors in bewilderment. Yes,
that question. 
Well, I’ve got an answer. And if I only had one book
coming out this autumn, I’d be feeling pretty smug. Unfortunately, I’ve got two
books coming out this autumn. And only the one answer. Plus some
incoherent mumbling. 

Pray read on, gentle Critiques fan.
Where I got my idea (you did know that was the question,
right?) for Strangers at the Gate is as follows: we went for dinner with
friends, my husband and me. At the end of the evening, we left. A minute – if
that – later I realised I’d left my bag in their house. So we doubled back on
the street – not even half a block away – and rang the bell. 
There was no answer.
We stared at one
another. There hadn’t been time for our friends to fall asleep, get in a loud
shower, walk to the far end of the garden to look at the stars, or even start a
scorching verbal domestic dispute that had left them seething and unconcerned
about doorbells. 
Where were they? 
Standing there on the doorstep, I thought I knew. I
reckoned there was at least a chance they were dead. And not just dead: hacked
to lumps and bleeding out, their killer still standing over them, chest heaving
and knife dripping.
Where I went wrong was saying any of that out loud. By
the time one of the friends – awake, alive, unhacked, not lumpy – answered the
door, my husband was giving me the look. The one that says What is it
with you
?
And Pouf! Strangers at the Gate was born: a dinner
party, a forgotten bag, two corpses. And a couple staring at one another,
thinking What is it with you. Add a fictional town in the
Scottish borders, in such a deep and narrow valley that there’s no sunlight all
winter long, and a cast of minor characters, all with their own dreams and
secrets . . . why the book practically wrote itself.
Compared, that is, with A Step So Grave. It should
have been easy. This is book thirteen in a series and I know the characters
inside out – a gently-born detective, Dandy Gilver, her charming (but still a
bit shell-shocked from WWI) Watson, her stuffed-shirt of a husband (who
sometimes surprises her), her exasperating sons, her snooty butler, her
bumptious maid, her devoted cook, and her Dalmatian. Plus I went on a solo
research trip to the location to immerse myself in the atmosphere of the West
Highlands. 

And what a location! Applecross is a gloriously remote, gloriously picturesque
bit of Wester Ross, reached by one of the worst (or best, depending on your
taste) roads in the country. Driving the bealach na ba (pass of the
cattle) would make you glad to arrive at Applecross even if all there was there
was a shut pub with a dead dog in the doorway. But what there actually is is a
beautiful bay, an cosy inn, great food, friendly people and a thousand years of
history. I’ve seldom been happier than when I was staying at the inn, eating
the food, chatting to the people, and learning the history.
Then I came home to write the book set in that evocative,
enthralling spot. And . . . nothing. I drew maps and plans, made up character
names, read and re-read the material I’d amassed and  . . . nope, nothing.
I wrote a book set in a ballroom dancing hall in Glasgow instead. 

Then two years later, I sat down to write a book set in Galloway, about the flooding of a valley and immersion of a town during the construction of the hydro-electric system there, and guess what
happened.
Pouf! Out came a story about Applecross. Dandy Gilver’s son had got himself engaged to the daughter of the family who owned Applecross House and the whole Gilver clan was off to the Highlands for the engagement party. A famous knot-garden, a family curse, a shedload of folklore and a corpse in the snow . . . out it all came.


But if anyone asks me where the idea was for two years or
what shook it out of me in the end . . . I’ve got nothing.
If you’d like to compare a book that came easy with a
book that came hard and late and from nowhere, I’m giving away a copy of both
new novels. Just comment here on Lesa’s blog and I’ll pick a name out of the
hat by the end of the week. 
*****
Catriona McPherson is the national best-selling and
multi-award-winning author of the Dandy Gilver series of preposterous detective
stories, set in her native Scotland in the 1930s. She also writes darker
contemporary suspense novels, of which STRANGERS AT THE GATE is the latest.
Also, eight years after immigrating to the US and settling in California,
Catriona began the Last Ditch series, written about a completely fictional Scottish woman who moves to a completely fictional west-coast
college town. 
Catriona is a member of MWA, CWA and SoA, and a proud lifetime member and former national president of Sisters in Crime, committed to advancing equity and inclusion for women, writers of 
colour, LGBTQ+ writers and writers with disability in the mystery community.