I’m weak…

“I knew I should have bet you big bucks you couldn’t go a whole year without writing a book!”

Wise words. Wise words, indeed. The woman who wrote these words is about to realize just how much she should have bet me.

I’m weak. I’m very, very weak.

Cut off from my many, wonderful nights of binging on booze and smokes, cast into a world of exercise and health, I need something to hold on to. Some vice. Some compulsion.

Okay! So I’ve started another book! I can’t help it! I’m an addict! Yes, I’m going to keep researching the book on food but… I need more!

You see, the class I’m taking just doesn’t require a whole lot from me. I’m doing it in my spare time, hardly attending class, and getting an A, for crying out loud! I need to fill my time.

More importantly, I need something to sink my teeth into… uh oh… words like that usually mean another horror novel. What’s the deal with me? I used to be a comedy writer, folks!

But there’s no fighting it. I’ve got this character trapped in my noggin, this likable, kindly serial killer. And right about now, Jenn is laughing her ass off and kicking herself at the same time.