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Doubt kills more writers than suicide. It may not kill their physical body, but it will destroy their spirit, their will power, their muse. No muse is so powerful than they can fight alone against a cloud of doubts. I doubt the end of this book. I doubt the turn it’s taken. I’m not sure. I’m always sure, like a wolverine that decides it’s going up the mountain instead of around it, I let nothing and no one stop me from my goal of reaching the top and seeing the view from the highest, coldest, freest point. But now, I hesitate. I’ve been stuck at the same point for days, because I am not certain that this is the way to go. Anita and I aren’t having a good time, but then this book has been a serial killer case and though it’s fun to hunt monsters with Edward, aka, U. S. Marshal Ted Forrester, it’s still a lot of blood and pain. I think that Anita and I are having that ten years on the job and tired of looking at this shit.

People ask why the sexual content went up and the crime went down, maybe it’s because she and I are both tired of looking at murder victims. How many crime scenes can you look at before it seeps into the very pores of your skin and you can never get the images out of your mind? Who wouldn’t rather wrap a warm, willing body around them, than stare down at carnage?

I’ve learned to play and relax, but I finally realize that Anita needs a vacation, too. My imaginary friend needs a break, not a non-writing break, because she’ll just wait for me to return and still be stuck in this dark head space. So, what to do? Can I write a vacation story with Anita actually enjoying herself? Would you guys be interested in seeing her actually relax? If she did vacation would it be like Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot who couldn’t visit anywhere without dead bodies dropping around him? I swear, if he were real you’d just avoid any party he was invited to for fear of turning up a corpse. I suspect that the same thing will happen with Anita if she vacations, but maybe that’s okay? Maybe a few chapters of fun and sun, or something that isn’t murder, will refresh her enough to face the next crime without wanting to just throw in the towel. Even Edward is missing his family, and his kids. Maybe we’re all just growing up, and even hunting monsters isn’t as fun if it takes you away from the people and things you love?

I’ll finish this book, and then maybe play with Merry, or the new series idea, but the next Anita must have a vacation for her. Even if it’s just a short story, she needs a real, on paper, break. Me refreshed doesn’t refresh her, and vice versa – huh? Not only do I need recreation, but so does Anita, and so does Merry. Sex, though wonderful, isn’t enough by itself, we need to have sex somewhere the police can’t call us in and make us crawl from that warm, amazing partner, to look on one more dismembered victim. It is a serious mood killer.