Why I write

       “I’m sure that seeing your book in print is enough,” the sweet, elderly lady said. “If you don’t sell another single copy in your entire life, you will have a book to cherish.”
       We were at my first book signing, and I looked up at her, having just signed her book, and then I leaped the table and wrapped my hands around her throat and choked her until she turned purple. No, that’s not what I did. I simply smiled at her and took her money. Later I pushed her down some stairs. She broke a hip and was there three days fighting off rats and insurance salesmen before they found her.
       No, I didn’t do that, either. For one thing, I’m not that kind of person, and for another, she was a jogger and outran me.
       But she was wrong. I wrote my book to sell it. Yes, it’s incredibly cool to have a book in print, one of the best experiences of my life, but if no one bought it, I wouldn’t keep writing. I’m not bright, but even I realize when it’s time to stop hitting your head against a brick wall. If only Hillary understood that.
       Fortunately, Murder by Dewey Decimal has sold. To friends, family, and — importantly — people who don’t even know me and thus aren’t afraid that I’ll ruthlessly hunt them down. Which is funny, really, because I’d be more inclined to hunt strangers because I know where my friends and family are every single minute of the day.
       And now in June I’ll have two books out that you’ll be forced — uh — will be able to buy. We’ll have EndlesS, a collection of my favorite poetry, and Murder by the Acre, the sequel to Murder by Dewey Decimal in which Bernard, Lisa, and the chief once again show us why Ryton is one of the most dangerous small towns in Oklahoma. And yes, EndlesS has that capital ‘S’ at the end of it. Don’t ask. It’s a deep poetic reason that I can’t really explain, but might be the result of childhood brain trauma.
       Ryton is, of course, the fictional town that the Measurements of Murder Mystery™ series is set in. And it is a dangerous place, particularly if you know Lisa and Bernard who seem to have the knack of finding dead bodies. At least, they say they “find” them. Frankly, I’d be suspicious of them. They’re a lot like Jessica Fletcher of ‘Murder She Wrote’ fame. Everywhere she goes, people die. I wouldn’t invite that psycho broad anywhere near my house.
       EndlesS isn’t that dangerous, although to see people’s faces when I tell them that it’s poetry, you’d think it was a box of snakes. I end up saying things like, ‘It won’t hurt you,’ and ‘Don’t be afraid.’ Several people have timidly told me that they will buy EndlesS to support me, but they probably won’t read it. They always apologize, not realizing that I’m happy as long as I get their cash so they’re safe.
       Anyway, two books in one month. I won’t do that again. Until next year, of course, when I’ll put out Murder by the Mile and Floozy. Just think of all that good money — uh — reading. Sigh.