This is mostly true. Some ideas I know exactly where they came from. (It’s true you should be careful what you say around a writer. You might just end up in a book.)
I’ve often said that writers are born, not made. What I mean by this is that some people are simply born with stories in their heads, and there is no way of getting around it. Stories just float up out of a black void.
Anyone here seen Inside Out? You know the place where old memories go to be disposed? I picture stories rising up out of a place similar to that when thinking of the origin of some of my ideas.
Son of a Duke began in a flat in Glasgow on a rainy Saturday morning. (Like Glasgow rainy, not just a drizzle for people with weak constitutions.) It started when Jane Black, the Duchess of Lofton, walked into my head and said hello. Only then, she was Lady Jane Smith and was not wed to Richard. (They were having a torrid love affair in my head at the time. Very risque and awkward at times for me.)
So there you have it. The answer to the infamous question of where do your ideas come from is quite simply, I have no idea.