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Jan. 27th, 2005
A writer's mystery
Jan. 27th, 2005 11:44 pmFor ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
danthered and Rabbit-Hole Day
~~~~~~~~~~
Last night I was halfway through the second last chapter of my latest murder mystery when I stopped mid-sentence and sat silent for a while, contemplating my glass of Merlot. It didn't take long to make my decision. I tore those five pages out of my spiral notebook, one by one, and tore them up. Ever since I left Jack my writing has sounded hollow. We had a bad marriage, but it fired my inspiration. My ex-husband is a private investigator, but I always irritated him by solving his cases before he did.
"It doesn't take a degree in forensic science," I told him, "just a good imagination and a knowledge of human character."
He never believed I could solve them faster than him, so I proved it once by writing down the name of the person who did it and how. I didn't show it to him then, but put the note in a sealed envelope and gave it to him to open later. Of course I was right. Jack didn't like that.
I used to turn his cases into raw material for my novels. I changed the details of course, but my story lines had enough ring of truth to make them bestsellers. When I started making more money than Jack, that made things even worse.
So there I was on a Sunday night with nobody to keep me company but Jazz, realizing that independence had come with a terrible price. The man I loved to hate had taken my muse with him. And I couldn't even solve the smallest household mystery, like where I left my house keys. It made me sick, but the truth is I'm making enough on royalties to keep me comfortable for a good while. I might as well call it quits before anybody realizes what a fraud I am. Not really a great writer, just the ex-wife of a second rate detective. I was ready to tear up the whole notebook in fact, have an old fashioned book burning, but something held me back. Instinct I guess.
"Well Jazz, here's to you and me and retirement," I said, draining my glass.
Jazz is my lard-assed tabby, the one possession left over intact after my marriage. Yes, I got sole custody. Jack wasn't happy about that, and I couldn't tell what Jazz thought of the arrangement. He kept silent about his feelings most of the time, just turned a perpetual grin on every predicament. If a cat can be said to grin, Jazz grins, though you really know he doesn't mean it sometimes.
( Read more... )
danthered and Rabbit-Hole Day~~~~~~~~~~
Last night I was halfway through the second last chapter of my latest murder mystery when I stopped mid-sentence and sat silent for a while, contemplating my glass of Merlot. It didn't take long to make my decision. I tore those five pages out of my spiral notebook, one by one, and tore them up. Ever since I left Jack my writing has sounded hollow. We had a bad marriage, but it fired my inspiration. My ex-husband is a private investigator, but I always irritated him by solving his cases before he did.
"It doesn't take a degree in forensic science," I told him, "just a good imagination and a knowledge of human character."
He never believed I could solve them faster than him, so I proved it once by writing down the name of the person who did it and how. I didn't show it to him then, but put the note in a sealed envelope and gave it to him to open later. Of course I was right. Jack didn't like that.
I used to turn his cases into raw material for my novels. I changed the details of course, but my story lines had enough ring of truth to make them bestsellers. When I started making more money than Jack, that made things even worse.
So there I was on a Sunday night with nobody to keep me company but Jazz, realizing that independence had come with a terrible price. The man I loved to hate had taken my muse with him. And I couldn't even solve the smallest household mystery, like where I left my house keys. It made me sick, but the truth is I'm making enough on royalties to keep me comfortable for a good while. I might as well call it quits before anybody realizes what a fraud I am. Not really a great writer, just the ex-wife of a second rate detective. I was ready to tear up the whole notebook in fact, have an old fashioned book burning, but something held me back. Instinct I guess.
"Well Jazz, here's to you and me and retirement," I said, draining my glass.
Jazz is my lard-assed tabby, the one possession left over intact after my marriage. Yes, I got sole custody. Jack wasn't happy about that, and I couldn't tell what Jazz thought of the arrangement. He kept silent about his feelings most of the time, just turned a perpetual grin on every predicament. If a cat can be said to grin, Jazz grins, though you really know he doesn't mean it sometimes.
( Read more... )