In the heart of a writer. Or maybe just this writer.
I like to think of myself as a rational woman. I'm sure some of you who know me might disagree but that's why I didn't ask you. At any rate, since writing my book, I have become exceedingly secretive. People that I would trust to rear my children should I die in an unfortunate accident (she was a beautiful woman, they mourned) or tell my deepest, darkest secrets to (my chocolate stash is hidden in a box under the bed) will only get "It's about a girl who does some stuff and then other things. The End" if they ask what my book is about.
It all started when my husband, hereafter designated as "Mr. Davidson", rented a movie about a kid who writes a story that is stolen and published by another author (Gentlemen Broncos). Concern for the safety of my story had already been percolating at that point but after we saw that movie, it exploded into a fireball of insanity. Mr. Davidson thought it was hi-LARIOUS. So to all of my friends and loved ones who got the "Um, uh, it's about uh..." I am sorry. Though not sorry enough to give more detail. See Ya!