The weekend sale is over. It shot Snoopy's memoir up to #1 in Horse Books across the board (General Fiction, Children's, etc), which was great.
I also got a lot of writing done. I'm on the downhill slope of the new mystery, somewhere around 20,000 words left to go. (BTW, how do I know it's about 20k words? Because my books typically come in around 65-80k words and I'm currently a little over 50k. After awhile, that means something.) I'm going to be working feverishly for the next week or two to bring this story to a conclusion, so I may not be around much.
Before I dive back underground, I had to go to a very big meeting of Sisters in Crime. It was our yearly lovefest with Mystery Writers of America. We had lunch and some big names came to discuss murder and mayhem. This year we had two Larrys: Larry Welborn, a crime reporter for the OC Register, and Larry Montgomery, an investigator for the OC District Attorney's Office. They were both fascinating, and Larry M. actually gave me a lot of ideas for strengthening the book I'm working on, once I start the edits.
Larry W. told the story of working, on and off, on the case of a woman who police originally thought committed suicide, then changed their minds when her landlord "accidentally" murdered another woman in the apartment complex. He chased leads for 31 years and finally got the DA to file charges, only to have the charges dismissed because of due process. It seemed like a heartbreaking end to the story, but he did not act particularly upset. Some might consider it a waste of his time to uncover a truth that would never be used for justice. But the world knows that this woman did not kill herself. And after 31 years, her blank, pauper's grave now has a headstone. She is remembered.
It got me to thinking about why we do things. Sometimes it's not for the money or the fame or the promise of truth or justice. Sometimes it's just to lift ourselves up.
I found this on YouTube.
We can't afford to stop dreaming.