I was in Lanzarote last week. That near-barren island of glinting black sand, volcanoes and fields of charred lava. Sheer rock faces that plummet into the deep blue Atlantic and waves that explode on the shore with flumes of white spray.
There is nothing gentle about the landscape in Lanzarote, it is awe inspiring. Powerful and dramatic. It turned my head to the idea of romance.
I’m waxing lyrical, and I’m talking fiction, of course. I can’t help myself. As a writer every new place, vista and experience holds (as yet) untold potential.
A hero forged from molten rock, a narrative spun over sharp peaks and yawning craters. A heroine trapped by the ocean.
A passionate love story rising out of the sun-baked land.
Ah, for the inspiration of a setting so poetic that the plot (almost) writes itself.