Map on a Desk

In the early stages of a book I have to go hunting for it and A Bird in Winter was no exception.

I had already visited Norway and Iceland before lockdown, but once restrictions lifted, I knew I needed to follow Bird’s flight from Birmingham to Scotland, Orkney, Shetland . . . it isn’t just about description, it’s about seeing something that sets the sparks going.

This picture was taken in a guesthouse somewhere, with my rucksack propped up against a wall as I studied a map and plotted Bird’s route. The feeling of being on the run was fantastic.

The Bothy

Bird adopts several disguises during her flight: a homeless person, a hiker . . . sometimes she sleeps rough or breaks into places to hide out, like this low, bothy-style house that I saw by the side of the road in the Highlands.

Keep Off

Nothing excites me more than a sign reading KEEP OFF or NO ENTRY.

I love underbelly places, the places that keep our turning world functioning, the places we aren’t supposed to see.

Tunnel in Woodland

I passed this tunnel on a lonely hike in the Scottish countryside. I had no phone signal and no one knew where I was.

It felt as though if I went into that short tunnel, I would disappear and be gone forever.

Plockton

This is the village of Plockton, on the west coast of Scotland. I really fell for it – such a beautiful, remote-feeling place, with a wide estuary and low-lying cloud.

I knew immediately that a crucial part of the novel would be set there and the scenes in Plockton are, in many ways, the beating heart of the book.

Empty Beach

I took this picture in Thurso, before I went for the ferry that would take me away from the British mainland.

It was a bleak, windy day and I was the only person around – it felt as though I had come to the ends of the earth and was going further still.

Snow-Topped Cliffs

This was my view as my ferry departed from Scrabster on its way to Orkney, the hard chop of the snow-topped cliffs – it wasn’t difficult to feel the same surge of joy that Bird feels as the land melts away.

View of Hills from a Ferry

The feeling of escape was . . . inescapable. The mind-expanding process of journeying is what allows the ideas to flood in.

What sort of person was Bird? Well for a start, I knew she was the sort of person whose heart soared at a sight like this . . .