Is there a "real" Neverbury?
In which I reveal a secret
The fictional town of Neverbury is very much fictional, except for all of the bits that aren’t. The truth is, I think I’ve been to every place in Neverbury. I just changed the names to protect the innocent (or is it the guilty).
The charity shop, for example, is not some generic charity shop. It’s a very specific charity shop that I’ve spent quite some time in. That doesn’t mean that the charity shop in question is home to an unseen malevolent presence, I added that bit in, but when I need a setting for a story I usually pick somewhere that I already know. And I know this place.
When I don’t know a place, things can get complicated. Writing “Three Line Whip”, I spent far too long researching the layout of the Houses of Parliament. I became fascinated with the history of members’ bars, the complexities of parliamentary office allocation, and exactly where MPs went to eat. I stopped short of trying to work out the availability of toilets but still probably got myself on quite a few governmental watch lists during the course of my research. I was deep into Googling for schematics and blueprints and the like before I realised that most of my readers wouldn’t have any more of a clue about the intricacies of the floorplan Houses of Parliament that I had and, hopefully, those that did would allow me a little creative license.
In “Return to Neverbury”, I’ve given myself a little more scope. Neverbury Castle is an amalgam of a few different places that I’ve been. I love a good castle, a good ruin, and a good second-hand bookshop. At least one of these might turn out to be fictional because even though I have a very clear recollection of it, I don’t seem able to find any evidence that it ever actually existed. I’ll have to check with my wife, who is the keeper of the memories my brain isn’t large enough to store long term. She’s also the one who drags me out of the house, often somewhat against my will, and takes me to the places that end up in my stories. Without her, Neverbury would never exist.
So, I encourage you to go out and find your weird. Track down a clown’s grave, a buried warship, and abandoned machinery that’s being taken back by nature. Go to crypts, haunted places, and neolithic standing stones.
Forget “Brat Summer”. Have yourself a Neverbury Autumn.
See you next time.
XOXO.
Chris.
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