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.