No offense, Sam
You sometimes have the strangest tasks ahead of you when you are a mystery writer.
The other weekend, mystery novelist Katy King (also known as the Princess Consort) and I went to a Portland coffee shop to work on our novels. She has a first draft of a mystery and I’m working on the sequel to “Crashers.”
We bought our drinks, found a table, set up our Macs. Then I opened my Steno pad, in which I had jotted the three things I needed to do that day: Clean up a scene; stitch together a bridge between an existing scene and a new one; and removing an unneeded character from the big, dramatic finale.
People entered and exited the coffee shop behind me. Katy leaned forward and said, “Sweetie? Your note pad?”
I glanced at her, eyebrows raised.
She looked at the other coffee shop patrons, then at me, then at my note pad.
Note No. 3 read: Kill the mayor.
“Oh,” I said, tucking the notepad back in my messenger bag. “Yeah. Good call.”
No one called the police, so we got through our scenes that day.