Readers often ask me where I got the idea
for my novel Paradise Girl. The
answer is, it came from a bug. Or, to be more precise, a virus.
Nobody knows how many viruses exist, but
scientists agree that they outnumber all other living things put together (actually
there’s some debate about whether viruses can actually be considered alive, but
for now we’ll assume they can). Only a tiny number of them affect humans, and
most of those that do are easily dealt with by the body’s immune system.
However, there are a few that the immune system can’t cope with, and these can
cause serious illness and, in extreme cases, death. An example is ebola, which
is spread through the transfer of body fluids. It’s also transmitted by fruit
bats, which can carry the virus without being affected by it.
A few years ago a volcano in Iceland
erupted, throwing smoke and ash several kilometres into the sky. A result of
this was the grounding of commercial aircraft for several days. I live in a
remote farmhouse high on the Pennine hills in the north of England. Usually the
only signs of human life outside my home are the vapour trails of planes as
they approach or depart from Manchester, or travers the country to and from
other places. At the time of the Icelandic eruption, they stopped. The skies
were empty, a beautiful, clear blue. For that short time I could have been the
only person alive. This started me thinking: suppose that really was the case, where
might everyone else have gone? What might have happened to them? Destroyed by radiation?
Abducted by aliens? Wiped out by a plague? Ebola was in the news at the time,
and so the latter seemed the most likely.
I began to work on the idea. Somebody in such
a situation would be subject to unbearable pressures. They would be desperately
lonely and terribly afraid, alternating between relief at surviving and the
daunting prospect of a future without hope. It would add poignancy if the
central character was young, maybe still in their teens with their life before
them. Think about an almost endless series of days stretching ahead, with
nothing to relieve them or distinguish between them. What dark places might a
mind go when faced with that? What terrible dreams might occur?
They would try to cope by writing a diary, which
would describe what they saw, heard and thought, and through which they could
reflect on their predicament. It seemed to me that this would work best if such
a character was female. Kerryl Shaw introduced herself, and I began to write
her story. You can read it in Paradise
Girl.
Find the Paradise Girl here: https://amzn.to/2ETah9P
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