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
