Auntie M has been wrapped up in words, now that her novel revision is winging its way to her Screw Iowa buddies for reading and dissection.  And then cocooned in the words of others, reading and editing away.

Chet Atkins, one of Doc’s and my favorites, said: “Years from now after I’m gone, someone will listen to what I’ve done and know I was here.”

I like that idea, the thought that one’s work lives on.  Is that why I am so anxious to share my writing?  To leaves tidbits of myself behind, the hidden truth in between the cozy mystery’s plot?  As a writer you give the inner thoughts to your characters, all of them–to the protagonist who can be the person you wish you could be, and the antagonist, who you give permission to be what you so clearly are not.  It sounds deceptively easy, doesn’t it?  Then why is it so bloody difficult????

We write for different reasons: to explore our past, to pretend to a present we long for; to heal old wounds or make a social statement.  I like puzzles and so am attracted to their unraveling in mysteries, one reason I write in that genre.  And it’s the ultimate game of control, as you can people your novel with anyone you wish, playing the ‘What if?’ game to the hilt.

Doc currently threatens to get me a tee shirt he’s seen that says:

I just may have to let him get that~