I would argue that most writers are … shall we say … just a little different?
After all we do have alternative worlds with imaginary people playing out in our heads.
We all have our little quirks.
I realised the other day that, along with the imaginary worlds, I also have a bit of a thing for abandoned government buildings. Now that is weird. I was passing an old estate of unused government offices on the outskirts of Cardiff. You know the kind, a cluster of tall buildings, several stories of concrete and blank rows of windows, wonky blinds, high fences and gates, expanses of empty concrete car park, a security booth beside the entrance …
I found the place fascinating, thrilling even. Which is very weird. It conjured up spies and secrecy, danger, threat, desolation …
Silent abandoned spaces …
A relic of the 60s and 70s. A modern version of gothic?
This is not a new thing. I used a derelict office building for a major scene between hero and villain in my very first published novel – Never Coming Home. I was writing grittier stuff then and the block I imagined was one of those overlooking the rail line out of Paddington station in London. They’ve mostly all gone now, replaced by new blocks of flats.
Interesting to know that the fascination is still there though.