I write mysteries.

During the auction for my first novel,

an editor wanted to know if I was a detective

or a journalist or a lawyer or a police officer.

I was none of those things. I didn't know what to say.

I responded politely, "No, I am a writer,"

sensing that wasn't good enough for her.

She asked if I'd been exposed to crime scenes and criminals,

police procedures and law enforcement and the mean streets.

I said, no, I'm a writer.

She dropped out of the auction.

But my book sold anyway

to an editor who loved writers.

My story is buried in the ground of the mysteries I write.

My past is woven into my characters' pasts.

I am the hero and the villain of my story.

When I work, I dig up the past.

I analyze it.

I disclose my successes and failures.

I rediscover my pleasures and pain.

It is believed that an author's platform sells books.

I think story and character sell books.

Everybody wants something.

I want something.

My characters want something.

They want the truth from me.

I want the truth from them.

I write mystories.