For Murdoch, women are bad news. Trying to stay alive in war-torn Andalusia, tracking a vanishing femme fatal, hunted by The Brotherhood, the last thing he needs is love…
In Liam Murdoch’s world there is no room for love, only the thrill of the game and the fast buck. So when a fascinating client persuades him to be the bagman in a blackmail payoff and he winds up with a bag full of fifty grand in cash and a box whose contents are worth more than that, Murdoch smells the chance to make a stash.
As Europe slides into bloody chaos, Murdoch must travel to war-torn Andalusia in search of the elusive Mary-Jane Carter and the even more mysterious Sinead Tiernan. He must get the answers only they can provide about the box and the sinister Brotherhood of the Goat, who are hunting for it. But once there, what Liam finds is the last thing he needs—love—and his world turns upside down. Instead of chasing cash, he’s fighting to save the life of the woman he loves.
Suddenly nothing and nobody is what they seem to be, and Liam finds himself fighting not only a mysterious enemy he cannot understand, but also his own turbulent feelings. He must battle to save a priceless treasure for humanity and the woman he’s learned to love from a fate far worse than death.
Molly: What music, if any do you listen to when you write?
Conor: It depends very much on the novel and what mood I want to create. When I wrote Dark Rain I listened obsessively to Barber’s Adagio, and Mahalia Jackson’s version of Summertime. They definitely affected the mood and style. It became very dark and brooding. People compared it a lot to Blade Runner, though actually it is nothing like it, but I guess the mood was similar. And that was definitely influenced by the music. I rarely listen to songs, because the words distract me from my own narrative stream. When I am writing the Murdoch mysteries in the Heat series, I listen to a lot of sax music, like Stan Getz, or Miles Davis’ trumpet. They are great for creating that noir mood. Throw in a pack of Pueblo cigarettes and a bottle of Bushmills and I’ll work for hours.
Molly: Are you a full time writer, or part time writer?
Conor: Full time. I do still see the odd client as a therapist, but that’s more part of my long-term project, Katalusis, a non-fiction book which gathers together my experiences as a psychotherapist, NLP practitioner and hypnotist. I am fascinated by how the human mind works and how we create our own realities in our minds. This also influences my fiction. If you think about it, when you read a book what is really happening is that you are entering into a kind of mild trance in which the writer induces a controlled hallucination in your mind. You begin to see images and hear sounds and voices, you begin to taste and smell and feel things that aren’t really there. There is a powerful magic in words, and a skilled writer who knows how to use syntax and imagery, can actually have a deeply powerful impact on a reader.
I was very moved by a comment from one of my readers the other day. He said that my writing had the ability to, and I quote, ‘…etch itself somewhere deep within, with shadowy and haunting images that linger long.’ Forgive me for repeating that, but it was such a lovely thing for someone to say. It encapsulates everything I aspire to achieve as a writer. But this is the power of words when they are used skilfully. They can actually generate images, sounds and feelings within another person’s mind. That is magic.
Molly: What was the transition like between part time and full time writer?
Conor: It was a pretty natural transition. From as far back as I can remember I wanted to be a writer. Which wasn’t all that easy to begin with because on the one hand I was never sent to school, and on the other I was quite dyslexic. So I didn’t exactly have pole position in the race. But I was determined, so whatever else I did in life, it was always skewed in some way towards either mastering and using language, or acquiring rich, powerful experiences I could then write about. I’ve done a lot of things in my time. I ran my own language school in the south of Spain, I trained as a barrister – and practiced only briefly. I then converted to psychology and practiced as a psychotherapist for a good few years. But all the while I was writing – on the train to and from work, at weekends, wherever and whenever I could. I’ve written everything from comics and romantic comedies to sci-fi and conspiracy thrillers. Eventually I simply found I was devoting more time to writing than to anything else. My time at the Bar inspired London Town and my experiences as a therapist are present in everything I write.
Molly: Do you have a word count per day you try to hit?
Conor: I like to do at least two thousand words a day, but I have done as much as ten thousand. If I am in the groove, I have a bottle of good Irish whiskey and a pack of cigarettes, and some good jazz playing, I can keep going all night. That kind of obsession can take its toll on other areas of your life, but then everything is a trade off in the end, isn’t it? I forget who said it, but you get more of what you focus on. The B side to that is that you get less of what you don’t focus on. So if you focus a lot on your writing and not so much on your human relationships, you become a good writer with poor relationships. That is something I am learning late in life.
With some people it’s booze and drugs. With me it’s writing. Like I said. Everything is a trade off.
Molly: When you finish writing a book, how long before you begin writing the next one?
Conor: When I finished Albion Rising it was seven years before I started writing again But that was exceptional. It’s the only time in my life when I wasn’t writing. Usually it will be a week or two. On the other hand, for every novel I finish, a hundred never get past chapter three. They end up getting cannibalized and turning up in a project that does get finished and published. A Love To Kill For started life as a short dime thriller set in LA in the 1930s. I wrote it for fun because I love the noir genre. It was reincarnated as a longer novel called the Brotherhood of the Goat and then finally saw the light of day as A Love to Kill For, the first in the Heat series. I think I started The Deepest Cut, the sequel, the week after I finished it.
I find if I am not creating something I start to get antsy. I have to be writing or drawing or carving or writing songs. I don’t really care what it is, and I don’t really care if I don’t know how to do it. I have to be creating something. I must be a real pain in the ass – in fact I know I am because plenty of people have told me so, including my daughters! But there are few pleasure so great as looking at something you have created in its finished form. And then moving on to the next thing.
Conor Corderoy was born in London, but his parents, whom he describes as ‘bohemians’, moved to Ibiza when he was two. He grew up on the smallest of the Balearic Islands, bare-foot, wild and uncombed. He did not attend school, but for four years had a governess. She rapidly became an alcoholic and disappeared one day when Corderoy was 12.
In his teens he moved with his family to Cordoba, on the Spanish mainland, where at 16 he got his first job, breaking in wild horses. At 19, still bare-foot, wild and uncombed, he moved to London, via Barcelona and Paris, to become a rock star. He is grateful to whatever gods watch over him for foiling that project. He retains a fond nostalgia for Led Zeppelin and the Eagles, but his tastes these days run to cool jazz and Tudor music.
He flirted with academia in his 30s and became an Incorporated Linguist, a Barrister at the Inner Temple, a psychologist and a Master Practitioner of neuro-linguistic programming.
He has been married twice and has two daughters.
He has a cat and he thinks he might live high on a mountain in the south of Spain, but he isn’t sure.
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conor-Corderoy/e/B00GRWI566
Publisher Website: https://www.totallybound.com/author/conor-corderoy