Alexa Hartfield. You’ve read about her in almost every book I’ve published. Though young, she’s a bit eccentric, very eclectic, and definitely elusive. The perfect persona for a mystery writer.
Her books border on thrillers that give much more detail of horrors than I ever could. I’ve had people ask if she’s my fictional “me.” Not hardly.
There are similarities, sure. We both write. There’s one. She’s from the town I live in (just for fun). There’s two.
Um… oh, she lives a similar life to the one I planned for myself back when I was seventeen and was sure I’d never get married or have children (and didn’t want to!). Unlike her, I was going to be a teacher and write on my summers off (I actually believed that teachers got three months of freedom back then–silly me).
Alexa doesn’t teach. She is much more successful (and wealthy) than I ever expected or even wanted to be. I had romantic ideas of being a starving artist kind of author–discovered after I was dead if ever. Um, I love her fashion sense, but I wouldn’t look good in her wardrobe–not being nearly double her size! Oh, and she does drive my dream car–but I wrote it before it was my dream car, so does that count?
Book two is nearly finished editing. It takes so long to retype it all, get it to the editor, get it back, fix the five thousand changes per page (ok, so maybe that’s a bit exaggerated), and then get back to work. I’ve neglected my family shamelessly these past two and a half weeks, but it’s almost there and I plan to fix a great meal to celebrate.
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