A crisis of confidence tackled me to the rug yesterday and crammed my nose into the poorly vacuumed pile.

After a round of sneezing and a reflexive huff of indignation, I pulled myself off the floor and back into my Cozy Mystery… and freaked out properly.

Structure was the cause célèbre of the day.

How does a Romance writer build a Cozy to withstand its own twisted plot? What on earth makes me think I can engineer a mystery?

Having no answer for that, I fled the scene.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe the Coward