Well, it’s settled. I’ve got Cozy in my blood.
Normally, this would be a good thing. When a writer’s dreams turn to the new genre, it’s a positive sign that the author is truly feeling the literary turn.
But what happens when the Cozy Mystery that plays out in your head turns into a comic / horror mashup that would put Rob Zombie and Sam Raimi to shame?
Psychiatric intervention, perhaps?
Fine. I’ll schedule an extra half-hour with my shrink. (He should love this.)