The Truth is…

…I’m loving it here. I might just be addicted to the peace and quiet. The healthy food. The fact that I’ve dropped over 10 pounds and still eat cheese twice a day. Writing every day, the thing I believe I was put on this earth to do. Enjoying the love of a good man who indulges my whims and wishes. (Of course, that would be true anywhere we lived, but combined with everything else it’s an especially lovely life package.)

I just read this interview with Richard S. Prather that my fried Christa Faust posted in her blog. I tended to skim the parts where Prather descends into conspiracy theory, but the rest of him is utterly wonderful. As I noted in Faust’s blog, the interview is like a seven-course meal topped off with a 1932 port. Such a wealth of wisdom and experience, all in one place.

Today, I’m “working” on Thrilled. It’s work, but I keep cracking myself up every five minutes. Maybe something useful will make it to the outline. Or not. I wrote for my agent The Seven Golden Rules of Psychological Thrillers. I don’t know how well it holds up, but she thought it was hilarious. My favorite is #3. (People should die. Like, lots! They should fall on top of each other all around the investigator’s feet, waving the killer’s business card, which your investigator should promptly ignore until he sees the surveillance video of their deaths.)

The Rules are in no small way, of course, influenced by Harris, Connelly and Patterson.

Last night, I filed my measly handful of Stoker recommendations. The award is so deeply flawed, I don’t care any more. I mean, I care for my friends who care, but for me it’s pointless. Hell, I can’t even get paid for a story that was on the Preliminary Ballot last year.

Okay, back to doing something that at least makes me laugh

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