For me, there are four great joys in writing: conceiving the concept (often, this seems to happen of its own volition, but there are things one can do to aid the quickening); world-building (which goes hand-in-hand with the concept, for me at least); writing dialogue (which can be one of writing’s great sorrows if you don’t know your characters well); and research.

I'll write about the first three in blog entries to come. Research can be a venture that is both quicksand and lifeline, depending on when you are doing it. Right now, as I’m about to embark on another book, it is (I hope!) in the latter category. Research ventures into quagmire territory when one is using it as an excuse not to write.

The line between research gold and trivia pyrite is a fine one. Just because you find something interesting doesn’t mean anyone else will; conversely, just because you can’t see an immediate use for something doesn’t mean it won’t be critically important to your story.

Since I write paranormal thrillers, I have given myself permission to delve deeply into religious arcana, and it is a never ending delight to me to discover stuff that maybe lots of people know, but is new to me. For instance, I read that the term ‘pillar of salt’ (even the non-Christian church-going may know the story of Lot’s wife) actually means to have a stroke (a blockage of blood supply to the brain), or become paralysed (and, thence perhaps, dead) – stock still like a pillar of salt. On the same subject, I also learned that the term ‘stroke’ is a medieval one, a shortened version of ‘fairy stroke’, because fairies were not always pleasant little winged girls fluttering in the daisies, but were human-sized creatures – often indistinguishable from humans – and quite nasty of temperament. Hence, the condition a person struck speechless or paralysed by an unseen artery obstruction was thought to have been struck by fairy magic.

And of course the term ‘flu’ we all know is short for ‘influenza’ – Italian for ‘influence’ and, again, an abbreviation for the suggestion that the ailment was the result of unfortunate astrological (or, indeed, demonic) influences.

A nasty gargoyle-like idol plays an important role in my latest book,The Broken Ones. The world ‘gargoyle’ comes from the Old French gargouille, which meant – literally – ‘gargle’, because these carved creatures and people were architectural features placed around the water drain pipes on buildings.

Words find their way into our lexicon, and their origins are lost. Assumptions and behaviours do the same – we trust them because they ‘have always been’.

The Norse rune ‘Thurisaz’ (with etymological relation to ‘thorn’ and ‘Thursday’) played a big role in my first novel, The Dead Path. I read recently that this rune was used in Roman-occupied England to represent the digraph ‘th’ sound, because Latin had no similar way to represent it. Unfortunately, Thurisaz does have a passing resemblance to the letter ‘Y’ so instead of reading ‘The blessed’, transcribers read ‘Ye blessed.’ Oops.

Is all this research true? I don’t know. I’m sure some of you could take me to task on it, and may be able to prove me wrong – and I’d be perfectly happy. My advice on utilising research like these fun, perhaps important, perhaps trivial tidbits is to check and double-check and triple-check before you put them in print yourself. While I don’t mind being corrected on my blog, it is much more embarrassing to include a mistake (or promulgate a false assumption) in a novel.

But if you do find this stuff interesting – as I do – don’t feel bad about spending a bit of time sifting through the trivia. Enjoy it! If nothing else, it confirms that you should not take anything at face value, and at best may yield some real gold.