Having a brother is nice. Having two brothers is twice as nice. As I write, I draw upon my brothers’ experiences and knowledge quite a bit. Tracy is a geology major and if I want to know about rock formations that might contain gold or silver, or the kind of rock that is most likely to harbor deep, dark, spooky caves, he can tell me! Richard is a history buff and I don’t believe he ever forgets anything he reads. He is a walking encyclopedia. Now, for a writer of mysteries, these two resources are pretty important. I’m very glad to say my brothers don’t charge me for their input, but I’ll be glad to give them credit within the pages of my next book.
As I grow older, it seems to me that my family means more and more to me. Perhaps that is because I realize how quickly the years fly and how brief is each lifespan. Being one of the two younger children in my family, many times I felt intimidated by older brothers and my sister. But, as years passed, that changed. Our relationship has taken on the patina of experience and a deepening of appreciation.
No one except my brothers and sister can share those home experiences with me. And, probably no one else would laugh at our goofy jokes or appreciate those time-honored stories that we retell to each other again and again. We start many a conversation with, “Remember when…” But that’s OK. Those stories are part of our heritage. And, many times the stories or their facsimiles find their way into my latest cozy mystery.
Maybe that’s why being a writer is so rewarding. I get to keep the good times alive. It is my privilege to write about experiences that have the ring of authenticity because they are–authentic, that is. Even though the book may be fiction, the writing is real. And, that’s the best of two worlds.
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