Mystery’s Strong Heroines

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Moriah Dru’s weekend off with her lover, Lieutenant Richard Lake, is interrupted when Atlanta juvenile court judge Portia Devon hires Dru to find two sisters who’ve gone missing after their foster parents’ house burns down.

The latest winner of the Malice Domestic Best First Traditional Mystery Novel Competition, The End Game features a strong new heroine in a vivid Southern setting. Gerrie Ferris Finger puts a new spin on the classic mystery novel.
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Since the Stiletto Gang are women writers on a mission to bring mystery, humor and high heels to the world, I’ll write about the evolution of heroines in mysteries.

I’ll compare my own Moriah Dru, heroine of The End Game to the women of mystery from the turn of the century to today. Dru wouldn’t wear stilettos, although she might wear a pair whether I want her to or not. At six feet tall, she’d feel at home in a room full of basket ball players. With her intelligent blue eyes, ironic sense of humor and athletic prowess, she’s be shooting hoops with the seven footers without turning a shapely ankle. She keeps her body strong because the world in which she exists is tough even for a man. Having left the Atlanta Police Department, she turned child finder. In The End Game she and her lover, Richard Lake of the APD, must find two young sisters before they are taken out of the country to be sex slaves.

Dru grew out of a succession of mystery heroines that began (in my opinion) with Mary Roberts Rinehart’s “fem jep” heroines. Rinehart’s female protagonists had to be rescued, or, in later days, had to rescue themselves. Her stories were of the “had I but known” school. Which inevitably leads to Agatha Christie and her Miss Marple, the eccentric, who believed all evil was reflected in someone she knew. She, like her male counterpart, Sherlock Holmes, solved crimes by cerebral analysis.

To me, Nancy Drew is the prototype for the modern strong woman in mystery. Created and written in the 1930s by a series of writers called Carolyn Keene, Nancy never met a dangerous situation she couldn’t handle. She may have gotten into the “too stupid to live” camp by her tenacity, but she changed the perception of the “hero” in heroine.

Moriah Dru and her contemporaries share a passion for truth and justice and they understand human motivation and the evil that comes from lust or greed or any of the negative aspect of the human soul. These protagonists connect with victims, seeing them as individuals with personalities rather than puzzle pieces to be moved on a board. In The End Game Dru doesn’t interact with the abducted children, she “sees” them through the neighbors and mentally connects to them by feeling the horror that awaits at the hands of people without conscience.

The modern heroine must experience change. In a stand-alone novel, the heroine has a arc – a slow realization or an epiphany that enables her to understand herself and her motivations. In a mystery series, the heroine has more time to grow and change. Miss Marple never changed; on the other hand, Christie, who had many personal tribulations herself, made Miss Maple so engaging that we understood her stock character and looked forward to the puzzle.

Today’s mystery heroine can be found in every genre and sub-genre. At one end of the spectrum is the cozy. Our intrepid sleuth must have a dauntless streak without being obnoxious or wooly. She will hold fast to things she believes in. She can be an amateur caught up in murder or a professional who investigates and competes with men. At the other end of the spectrum, the hard-boiled heroine can be like tiny Munch Mancini, created by the late Barbara Seranella. Munch is a former prostitute and junkie who’s trying to get her life on track by fixing cars. You feel her despair, but through her heroic acts and good heart, you root for her redemption. Now that’s a strong heroine.

Gerrie Finger
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Gerrie Ferris Finger is a winner of the Malice Domestic Best First Traditional Mystery Novel Competition. She lives on the coast of Georgia with her husband and standard poodle, Bogey.

My Annual Ode to Sunscreen

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Spring has sprung around these parts and with it comes the desire to be outside. And although most of you tuned in looking for my annual ode to Spanx, what you will get instead is my annual sunscreen screed to everyone who has spent all winter indoors and is now looking to get some “color.”

Let’s be clear: there is no such thing as a healthy suntan. Sure, you think you look better and if that’s the case, run—don’t walk—to your nearest health and beauty aids store (the place that used to be called the “drugstore”) and get yourself some spray tanner. I am not very adept at anything that requires you to get naked and spray on with a steady hand, so instead, I prefer the ghostly white look usually reserved for Mary, Queen of Scots and the like. From what I understand, spray tanner has come a long way and you can actually achieve the look of the sun-kissed with a little practice and all for under twenty bucks. What could be better?

While you’re at your local health and beauty aid store, pick up two additional items. One is Neutrogena’s Ultra Sheer dry-touch sunblock with helioplex and an SPF of 55. This stuff is the best around, and not just for us gals. Men can wear it, too. It goes on dry and protects your face and neck from the sun’s harmful rays fifty-fives times longer than if you weren’t wearing it. It feels like your favorite foundation and has the added benefit of protecting you from sun damage or worse.

The other item you should pick up is a good sunscreen. Around here, we like Ocean’s Potions (recommended by Dr. Anna, oncologist extraordinaire) or Bull Frog, both of which provide such good coverage that even I, seemingly a descendant of Mary, Queen of Scots, can sit out without risking a sunburn.

You know the rest: get a hat, limit your sun exposure, reapply sunscreen if outdoors for a long period of time or after exertion. Make an appointment now to see your dermatologist for a skin check Or, if you’re like me and never want to hear the word “biopsy” again unless it’s on an episode of “House,” invest in some UV-protectant clothing like my sexy swim tights or my mock-turtleneck swim shirt. Oh, you laugh. I can hear you. But I came back from tropical Bermuda last year with nary a red blotch on my fair skin and that’s saying something.

Over 60,000 new cases of melanoma will be diagnosed this year and that’s not counting just your garden variety skin cancers. You can’t change what you did to yourself in the past, but you can change how you behave going forward. The environment has made it so that we’re getting more of the sun’s rays than ever before, but we are lucky to enjoy the scientific breakthroughs that allow us to enjoy the outdoors without risking harm to ourselves.

Be sun safe, Stiletto faithful!

Maggie Barbieri

Friends

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I started to write about different kinds of friends, but then I realized I’d gotten too specific about a certain type of friend who is kind of a downer to be around and realized she just might read this blog post. I would never ever want to hurt her feelings, so I’m going to try again.

What kind of friends do you have?

Over the years I’ve had some interesting varieties. One of my very best friends turned out to be what they call a fair-weather friend. I stuck by her through all sorts of her family crisis and a few of her personal ones, but when something tragic happened in my family she disappeared from my life.

Since that time, I’ve never had another “best friend.” Instead, I’ve got many friends from all over. There are friends that I only see once a year when I got to a Mayhem in the Midlands–dear friends who are not writers but readers. I look forward to spending time with them and sharing at least one meal somewhere in Old Town. They are much younger than I am and I enjoy being with them.

I have dear friends who attend the same church with me, ones who I can count on to listen when I need a friendly ear and I’m there when they need the same.

And how about the friends we never see? Like the friends we’ve made on this blog. It’s been a joy to learn more about each and everyone, to find out how they feel about things with a perspective much different than my own.

When I was much younger, I had an older friend who mentored me with my writing. In fact, I learned more from her about writing than any class I ever took or book that I read. She’s moved too far for me to see her in person anymore, but she’s still going strong nearing 90. And yes, we do email one another.

Many years ago, I worked in the nursery at church with an 80 year old woman who I truly admired. We became great friends and giggled about some of the silliest things while caring for the little ones.

Now I’m at the other end of the scale–being one of the older women–and I have friends of many ages and love and enjoy every one.

I am still careful though, I limit the time I spend with the complainers and the whiners–life is too short for that. But when you spend time with someone who is fun, can laugh at themselves, is loving and enjoys life–you feel so much better yourself.

Not sure there’s a point to this, but it is what I felt like writing about today.

Anyone have any thoughts about their friends?

Marilyn

Abridging Freedom of Speech

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I would like to offer up an amendment to the constitution of the United States. It would tweak the 1st Amendment to abridge the freedom of speech in the following ways and circumstances:

1. No individual or group, especially those claiming to have God on their side, are allowed to protest, disrupt, or interfere with a funeral. Don’t believe it’s happening? Click here.

2. No senator or representative is allowed to heckle the President of the United States during a State of the Union address.

3. Politicians, entertainers, sports figures, religious leaders, and other public figures are barred from making any public reference to any type of “rehab.”

4. No mistress can insist on a public apology from her paramour because he lied to her. Lying is the very foundation of an affair. Corollary: No mistress can hire Gloria Allred to represent her interests in a public discussion of said affair.

5. The word “Maverick” and any form of that word is banned from any usage that doesn’t directly involve livestock or James Garner.

6. The phrase, “Yes, we can” should be immediately retired from political statements and speeches. Just because we “can” doesn’t mean we should or will.

7. [You fill in the blank. What words would you like to hear less of?]

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Everybody Plays the Fool Sometimes

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by Susan McBride

Yes, I know I’m one day late for April Fool’s (aka the unofficial birthday of Blue the Kitty); but I think the topic of fools is so timeless it needs no official date. I’m not talking about pranksters or the fools who nearly run you off the road while drinking Starbucks and yakking on cellphones. Nor am I alluding to the political mouthpieces who never seem to give their pieholes a rest. Nope. Instead, I want to discuss a trait that I envy more and more the older I get: being completely unafraid to act foolish in front of others, something I don’t think most humans master until we’re too cranky and tired to care.

For a long time, I lived under the false impression that perfectionism was attainable and if you achieved it–or came anywhere close–everyone would find you irresistible and would want to be fast friends. Although when you’re born a smart ass (as I was), it’s very difficult to curb your tongue when there’s such an itch to add a punchline to everything. Shockingly, not everyone appreciates the fine art of wordplay, so I often found myself at odds with siblings and friends who didn’t “get” my sense of humor. What’s an impressionable girl to do? I tried my darnedest to refrain from saying things that might be miscontrued, no matter how much it pained me.

That training came in very handy in my sorority days and was invaluable once I became a real-live author at 34 (egads, eleven years ago next month!). When I was a newbie, fresh off the I-can’t-believe-I’m-finally-published bus, I tried super-hard to behave. I was as nice as I could possibly be to everyone I met. But after a few years and a couple eye-opening incidents where something I said or did was taken the wrong way, I began to realize that, despite my best efforts, I was never going to: (a) say all the right things all the time; and (b) be seen as funny and delightful by all of those watching me. It was about then that I said, “To hell with this.” I had to stop being afraid of every word that came out of my mouth. I wanted to live every moment fully and enjoy everything I did, even if there was a person or two (or three hundred) out there who didn’t like my tone of voice or felt offended by my word choice.

I do believe that turning point came after I hit forty, which seems to be a magical line that, once crossed, gives you the freedom to be exactly who you want to be. I stopped worrying so much about making a fool of myself, and it felt like finally breaking out of a tightly laced corset. If life is high school then I’d rather have fun being the goofy class clown than the perfectly presentable prom queen. I’m not talking about disposing of manners, merely not taking things so seriously. One of the best parts about writing is feeling like I have no boundaries. I love concocting characters who don’t always behave the way they probably should. I adore when they say things out of turn that crack me up. That’s how I want to live my life and maybe why I have a plaque above my file cabinet that says “Well-behaved women rarely make history.”

I’d like to propose a year-round celebration of the good kind of fools who aren’t afraid to be themselves, even if that means looking stupid and screwing up once in awhile. Hey, as the song goes, “everybody plays the fool sometime.” I think I’ll do something foolish today, just so I never get out of practice.

Give Me Independence!

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Kris Neri’s published books include HIGH CRIMES ON THE MAGICAL PLANE, a Lefty Award-nominee, NEVER SAY DIE, THE ROSE IN THE SNOW, and the Tracy Eaton mysteries. With her husband, she owns The Well Red Coyote bookstore in Sedona, Arizona.
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By Kris Neri

When the Stiletto Gang offered me several guest blog dates, I knew I had to choose April 1st. You see, I write the Agatha, Anthony, Macavity Award-nominated mysteries featuring Tracy Eaton — mystery writer, detective wannabe, and the offspring of eccentric Hollywood stars — REVENGE OF THE GYPSY QUEEN, DEM BONES’ REVENGE and the just-released, REVENGE FOR OLD TIMES’ SAKE.

I always knew Tracy had to be an April Fool’s baby — nothing else made sense in terms of her reality-challenged family. I don’t think I ever shared Tracy’s birthday with my readers, but I did describe the circumstances of her birth in the second book in the series, DEM BONES’ REVENGE:

“The story of my birth was a closely guarded secret — known only to the immediate world. Frustrated by three bouts of false labor, Mother picked a fight with Dad, sending him off in a huff. Once he left, the real thing got underway. Apparently, it didn’t occur to her to call for help. She just hopped in the car and took off on her own. When the first bad contraction hit, she lost control of the wheel.

“I arrived on the steps of the church she crashed into. Contrary to rumors, it wasn’t St. Tracy’s. There is no St. Tracy’s in Beverly Hills. And wouldn’t that be silly basis for naming a child? The real story is more subtle. You might remember that Veronica Howard and Mother were great rivals at the time. But you might not know Miss Howard’s much younger third husband was having a torrid affair with a mere child named Tracy West. Clearly, a better way to choose a baby’s name. I’m glad I was able to provide my mother with that opportunity.”

Obviously, Tracy is a pretty independent sort, a one-of-a-kind adventurer, someone who marches to the beat of her own unconventional drummer. Me too. I’m so independent that, with my husband, I own an independent bookstore, The Well Red Coyote in Sedona, Arizona. [http://www.wellredcoyote.com]

The Well Red Coyote is a great store — always voted Best Bookstore in Sedona. While it’s a general-interest store, we have a strong mystery section. Strong sections in lots of categories. What we’ve created is a real community gathering spot. All of our appearing fiction authors present writing workshops, and our nonfiction authors offer seminars on their books’ subjects. Our programs are usually presented to overflowing, enthusiastic crowds. We also offer live music concerts, everything from blues and rock, to inspirational music and Native American flute playing. All always free.

Yet even in an offbeat place like Sedona, independence — in terms of bookstores, and stores in general — is becoming an endangered species. Despite their vocal support, we’re losing some of our old customers to Internet booksellers Maybe it’s the result of a genuine need to shave costs somewhere, or maybe it’s simply that, given the war of half-priced books online, books aren’t deemed to be worth their full price anymore by too many people.

It isn’t just independent bookstores that are suffering, either. Brick-and-mortar chain stores are hurting, too.

My books are published by traditional, independent presses (see how independent I am!), Red Coyote Press and Cherokee McGhee Publishing, so I’m used to distribution challenges. But I hear from other mystery writers, those published by NY presses, that increasingly, the chain stores are not ordering their books, or are ordering them in such limited number that they can’t possibly achieve the sell-through their publishers expect, at least not from the stores where their books used to be sold.

Ironically, with no stores but independents willing to support them, most authors do not do their own book buying in independent stores. I hear this from them all the time — they do most of their buying online, or even the warehouse stores. And I can tell you they rarely buy anything from the stores that host their signings. Strange, since online sellers have never been known to host an author signing.

Surely, I can’t be the only one who sees that the purpose of the online sellers’ price slashing war is to eliminate the competition, be they independent stores, or chain stores, and to bring publishers to their knees. What will happen when they succeed in closing down the competition? What will happen to choice? Independent stores pride themselves on their independent selections. Will there be anything to read beyond the limited Costco selection of twenty books or so at a time? When there’s no competition any longer, what will happen to the prices they charge?

Today, though, they’re often cheaper. And, sure, money is tight for everyone. But we vote with our dollars. We determine the shape of our world with every penny we spend. If you don’t see any value in independent stores, then just keep doing what you’re doing. But if you do, don’t wait until they’re all gone to lament their passing. Help them thrive now, while you still can.

Will anyone miss independent bookstores when they’re gone? I know my character, Tracy Eaton, and I will. But we’re both independent sorts.

How about you?

The Right Thing to Do

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Forgive me for getting political. Here at the Stiletto Gang, we try hard to write entertaining and informative posts about a variety of topics. For instance, this week, my choice for a topic was between “Spanx” and “health care.” As you’ll see, I’ve chosen the latter and I apologize, in advance, for ticking anyone off, something I apparently have gotten very good at lately.

It seems that you can’t go anywhere these days without hearing the words “health care” or “health care reform.” Never has a topic, in my lifetime anyway, engendered such passion and heated debate and I was born a year before the Civil Rights Act was passed. I don’t remember this kind of inflammatory discussion when brave men and women were shipped across the sea to liberate a little country called Iraq. But hold the insurance companies’ collective feet to the fire, or offer health care to a child, or someone with a “pre-existing condition” and we get threats and potential violence against our lawmakers.

Is the health care bill perfect? Not by a long shot. But neither was the Constitution. That’s why we’ve got amendments, people.

Some other things that weren’t perfect? Medicare, the Social Security Administration, the Works Progress Administration, the ERA…need I continue?

A few friends were over the other night, including a friend who has muscular dystrophy. He recounted that because of the arcane system under which we are all laboring (and getting sick), he cannot get treatment because he has the dreaded pre-existing condition. Yes, he’s had MD since he was eighteen. Did it exist before that? No. He already had it when he became an adult, though, and when he went on his own insurance. So he can’t be treated with certain drugs that could possibly minimize the discomfort that he feels from his illness. The insurance company won’t let him. He hasn’t quite figured out how to get around this Catch-22 and he’s forty-five years old living with a chronic disease that he’ll be living with for the rest of his life.

Then you’ve got me. Five years ago, I was diagnosed with Stage III melanoma, a deadly diagnosis at best. There was one surgeon with whom we consulted who would even attempt to remove the tumor from my groin. He felt that the operation would be successful, unlike the other surgeons we consulted. He felt that he could cure me. The only catch? The hospital where he performed my surgery didn’t take my insurance. The cost? Upwards of six figures.

Fortunately, I come from a family with the means to help me pay for what turned out to be a life-saving surgery. The operation was successful. Not a day goes by, however, that I don’t think about the mother, sister, aunt, or daughter who has to make the decision either to not have the surgery or go with the surgeon with the shaky hands who isn’t confident that he or she can get the tumor out never mind have the patient survive the surgery. I met that surgeon, incidentally, and he didn’t inspire a lot of confidence.

Can you imagine having to make that choice?

The Iraq war will cost the American taxpayers close to three trillion dollars by the time we finally get out. I haven’t heard a peep about how much the war is costing the average “Joe and Jane,” but I hear about how we’re going to be paying for someone else’s health care for as long as we live and into future generations. Guess what? We’re paying for it now. Just because we’re not currently insuring the uninsured, we’re still paying when they have an x-ray, or go to the emergency room, or have a strep test at a clinic. We pay every single time.

By the world’s standards, I’m a pretty rich person, even if by the standards of this country I fall solidly into the middle class. It is because I’m a pretty rich person that I am here today. I have the means to pay for the best health care money can buy and I’m not even one of the “Cadillac plan” holders. Without health insurance, and the ability to pay for the difference between what my insurance would cover and what my doctor would accept to take out a five centimeter lump from my groin, I would be dead.

That’s not putting too fine a point on it. That’s the truth. And I can’t bear to think of anyone saying to one of the most sought-after cancer surgeons in the world that they’ll have to pass on the surgery that could save their life because they can’t afford it. I can’t even think about what it would be like to sit around and wait to die, because that would have been my fate. I would not be writing this post—and possibly ticking you off—if I hadn’t had health care. I wouldn’t be here.

Back in 2000, I watched a debate between Al Gore and Bill Bradley, both of whom were vying for the Democratic nomination. I had always been a Bradley fan and hoped that he would win the nomination, an outcome that was not to be. I remember one of the moderators asking him why we should strive for universal health care in this country. Why, the moderator asked, should we insure the uninsured?

His answer? “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

The plan isn’t perfect. Politics prevail, and not in a good way. As a nation, if we focused on the saying “because it’s the right thing to do”—and made our decisions based on it—as opposed to which side of the aisle someone sits, we’d all be better for it.

I promise to write about Spanx next week.

Maggie Barbieri

Passover and Easter

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This is the garden at the bookstore where I did a signing this weekend–thought it looked appropriate for Spring.

Not being Jewish, I don’t celebrate Passover, though I certainly know the Passover story. As a Christian, and a Sunday School teacher, I’ve read the Bible and heard about and taught what happened the night the Jewish people put the blood of the lamb on their doors, and the angel of death passed over and none of the Jewish children died when the first born of the Egyptians did.

I’ll be celebrating Easter on April 4th. Our little church always has a Sunrise service at 6:30 a.m. Suprisingly, we always have a crowd despite the cold and the early hour. We see people who never come to church, but want to participate in an Easter sunrise service. We sit outside and our praise team leads us in Easter songs and our pastor gives a short sermon. Afterward, we enjoy a breakfast provided by different members of our church. At the usual times, Sunday School and our regular worship service begins.

Again, because it’s Easter, we’ll have folks turn up to the regular service who haven’t been to church since Christmas and even a few new people who are just looking for a church to attend on Easter.

In earlier days, women wore new dresses and often a fancy new hat. Now it’s different, people come as they are. Little girls might have a new outfit, but not even many of them do. That’s something that seems to have gone out of favor–or maybe it’s because our church has so many poor people who belong.

I’ll probably have to figure out something to fix for Easter dinner–something easy, because I won’t be up to cooking anything big since I’ll be up so early to go to the Sunrise Service. (Since I first wrote this I ordered a honey-baked ham and plan to make potato salad and macaroni salad. Invited family members to bring something to share.

Tell me about what you do for Passover or Easter, if you celebrate one of the other. Or any rituals that signify Spring for you.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Welcome to the Matzoh Ball

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Tonight is the first seder. I’ve been cooking and cleaning for weeks. Even the recent Noreaster that tore through my town and left me without power for five days couldn’t put a dent in my holiday spirit. I confess I was momentarily panicked when the lights first went out. I had gallons of chicken soup in the freezer. I could put up with reading by candlelight, freezing showers, and indoor temps of 40 degrees. But lose my soup? Heck no. Thankfully a friend had an extra refrigerator in her basement, an empty freezer, and best of all, power. Passover was saved.

This year we are having 25 family and friends join us for the first seder, 14 for the second one. It’s a bit daunting, but the part that keeps me going is the joy and love I feel when I look around the room. I delight in all the singing, praying, laughing, and eating! I kvell, Yiddish for swoon, at the wide-eyed enchantment on the faces of the children.

The search for the Afikomen (a piece of matzoh that is hidden during the seder) is one of the highlights of the night. The matzoh is put in a little pouch, made by one of my sons when he was in nursery school, and then hidden by the adults. Once the kids find it, they hold it “ransom” because according to tradition, we cannot complete the seder without it. “Heavy duty negotiating” ensues, until a “fair price” is set – usually either a few dollars or a small gift. As the kids get older, you’ll see the teenagers “help” the younger ones hold out for a good prize. My husband and I often joke that we knew two of our sons would be good lawyers given their Afikomen negotiating skills!

And the food – Oy, the food. Five courses and my kids would seriously object if I attempted to eliminate any of them – even if they personally don’t eat some of the delicacies. Two of my four wouldn’t touch a piece of gefilte fish with a six-foot pole, yet they’d be the first to express horror at the very concept of omitting that course from the seder menu. Listening to my kids, I can almost hear the chorus from Fiddler on the Roof singing “Tradition!” I ask you, Stiletto Faithful, regardless of which holidays you observe, do your children cling more to tradition than you do?

And it’s not just the age-old traditions. I mean the ones that I added a couple of times over the years and have now been informed are set in concrete. Luckily, I looked back at my blog from two years ago and found a recipe for Persian Charoset – something I had entirely forgotten, but which son number two told me was always a family tradition (um, what family was he in?). Anyway, I’m making it, as always!

All best wishes for a Zissen Pesach (a sweet Passover) – and a wondrous spring.

Marian (the matzoh ball-making Northern Half of Evelyn David)

Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

In My Mind, I Run Like a Kenyan

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Rachel Brady

Lee Child made what I thought was an interesting remark at Left Coast Crime earlier this month. Paraphrasing, it was that the fun part of writing is the daydreaming, and that the hard part is getting the words onto the page.

Ain’t that the blazing truth.

I’ve been thinking about that remark for weeks. Somehow I’ve had the notion all this time that getting words onto the page is easier for everyone else than it is for me. Given a choice, I’d rather visualize scenes hundreds of different ways than actually sit down and write one down. Why? Because the version I choose might not work, and then I’d have to cut all those pages.

I know: “Get over it.”

But still.

It takes a long time to put down thousands of words. Cutting them is hard. Why not decide first how I want the book to go, by daydreaming through dozens of plot lines, and then writing down the version I decide is best? For me, daydreaming is oodles more fun than typing words. Many writers say they have to write, that they are addicted to writing. Not me. I’m addicted to daydreaming.

A few years ago, David Morrell shared an interesting story about daydreaming that I’ll never forget. Coupled with this new statement by Lee Child, I grow hopeful now that my Writer Imposter Complex might possibly be unfounded.

The keyboard does not call me. I don’t get a charge out of putting down the words. My charge is always in the imagining.

In this regard, I fervently hope that my future as a writer will parallel my history as a runner. There was a time I did not enjoy running. The only thing I liked about it was how I felt afterward, and fortunately that feeling was good enough to keep me lacing up and coming back. Writing, the actual act, is a little like that for me now. Making a synopsis, staring at a blinking cursor, struggling for a word, or figuring out the best way to express an emotion is often frustrating. As with my running years ago, writing is frequently painful while I’m doing it. But, like the running, I feel an indescribable sense of accomplishment when it’s over. Huge. It’s the buzz that keeps me coming back.

Twenty years later, I’m still running. Now I actually love the run while I’m doing it. I feel disappointed when I miss a run and I’m always looking forward to the next one.

Today I’m daydreaming about a time when writing will feel like that.