A bit of background to the story then.
It was born out of an idea I had a couple of summers ago, the notion of going against the flow, wandering into a city whilst others withdrew from it, and stumbling across a marvellous treasure. I knew immediately that the story would be written in the 1st person, looking back, and that the book they discovered would obsess them to the point they would be compelled to steal it.
And then, I went on holiday, and all my wonderful ideas evaporated from my mind as it basked in the summer sun.
But before that, I wrote them down.
Because, like the Chinese proverb says, the palest ink outlives the best memory.
Such is the power of the written word.
You do have a notebook don't you? A repository for all those thoughts and fragments that burst spontaneously into your mind, unbidden, often when your mind is idling. The best ideas never come from staring at a page, or a screen, but by staring at the sky. Ideas are too precious to throw away, just because you're busy.
And so my sketch for what would become Grimoire lay hibernating in my notebook for the next 18 months. During that time I dipped into my treasure trove several times, picking out nascent stories whose time I felt had come. Meanwhile Grimoire lurked. Unrealised. Waiting for a spark of sorcery to give it life.
Then, about 2 months ago, I saw the challenge inviting stories on the subject of theft. Somewhere in the dusty back room that is my memory I recalled I'd once conceived a story like that, but the details were hazy. So I opened my notebook. I'm not sure where my notebook actually is. It's about 50 pages in size, tiny really, one small virtual document, just one of billions held in a data centre somewhere. Perhaps it resides in an American desert, or a clearing in a frozen forest. Accessible through a very modern form of magic.
I searched for the word 'theft', but did not find what I was looking for. Then I tried 'steal'. And there it was, the idea for Grimoire, as fresh as when I'd first imagined it. The words buzzed with a seductive vibrancy. I knew then I had to breathe life into it.
It took me two weeks to write, edit and polish. The story grew in the telling. It evolved from the story of a crime to something more metaphysical, almost dream-like, a modern-day fairytale. Fellow fans of Borges may see echoes of his classic story The Zahir, though my story describes a subtly different obsession.
And that is the story of how Grimoire came to be.
It's a story of about the joy of reading, and the power of words.
And I'm delighted so many have enjoyed it.
I wish you all vivid and arousing dreams. | 
