Something is being eaten outside in the woods as I write this. It's probably best since I'm considering the second murder in a story rolling around my head. Whatever is being consumed is protesting.
My victims tend to go quietly. We find their remains but not their actual demise. I guess I haven't the stomach for it.
That's the problem with crime: it's a thorny issue.
I love my brambles but I get poked and scratched every time I work out among them.
You break some eggs, you make some crime. I pin the body under a sweeper in the creek. I leave the body in the library on the couch, the floor, some on the back wall. I feed one or two to the crocodile. It happens.
I received my re-up notice from MWA today. I'm only the associate member. I'm not sure if I'll send my fees or not. They haven't proved too useful to me.
I've gotten a single issue of crimespree in the last year. I got a huge packet of stuff - mostly far back issues - with the MWA Edgar awards announcement. The whole thing doesn't seem current or helpful to me.
Of course, I'd probably feel differently if I sent something out and had the bona fides to say "I'm a crime Author."
I'm in a project.
Just like at a party, you do best keeping your mouth closed about writing. No one wants to hear about what they cannot read.
I'll probably join MWA again just in case they are doing something in the background to help authors. I wouldn't know. I'll retain an agent or publish nothing at all. Whatever she says, I'll do.
This is an avocation. I don't plan on feeding myself with the outcome. I do plan on being professional. I do plan on continuing to work at the craft. I don't plan commercial success.
If I leave enough bodies in my wake, I'll be able to find my way back home. A find Hansel I make.
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