Have you ever passed through a town and thought it would be the perfect place for your protagonist to set up shop? Well, during a recent visit to coastal Georgia my imagination began working overtime, churning out crime scenes faster than literary agents can send boilerplate rejection letters.
I took a walk, poking around back streets and along the marshes and waterfront.
My mind conjured up images of dead bodies bobbing and rolling softly in the knee deep murky water, like pieces of driftwood riding the tide.
Massive oaks draped with tendrils of Spanish Moss stood guard at the entrance to an imaginary police station.
A ship’s crew smuggled weapons and drugs inside a hold filled with freshly-caught shrimp, a pitiful attempt to confuse drug-sniffing canines.
Perhaps the undercover cop working onboard the shrimp boat was killed by smugglers. What better way to dispose of a body than to dump it among the reeds where hungry alligators lay patiently waiting for their next meal?
A father and son enjoy a summer day, fishing and crabbing. The sandy-haired freckle-faced boy snags “the big one,” and reels in his catch, only to discover he’s hooked a dead cop.
Or, a serial killer takes a new victim, one of the town’s elderly, each day at sundown.
My mind continued to wander as I made my way through town. But the place seemed far too quiet and lazy to be the setting for a thriller. I figured there’d be no way danger could ever find its way into such peaceful surroundings. And then I stumbled across this…
…and I knew for sure that I’d found the setting for the next book. Now all I need to do is finish the revisions on the current one and get it back to my agent. And I really need to hurry. There’s a killer on the loose in my mind, and he wants out, bad.