![]() It’s beautiful, but it also has the added advantage that if I get hot walking, there’s a lovely pond for swimming. I try and walk every afternoon, and in the summer times I do much of my walking at Walden Pond. I was taking my usual loop around Walden Pond in Concord, a locale made famous by another writer, one with higher aspirations than thinking up perfect murders. I was out walking, so I supposed the idea didn’t drop into my lap, per se. But with my newest book, Eight Perfect Murders, the idea dropped in my lap as close to fully formed as a book idea can be. It can take a year, sometimes more than a year. More often than not, these imagined novels wither on the vine. A premise will occur to me, then stick in my brain for a couple of months before another idea joins that first one. Most of the ideas for my books come in dribs and drabs. ![]()
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