In the Beginning
I’ve been a writer all my life. I only recently became an author. The necessary step to go from writer to author is actually being published. That took me 25 years.
In junior high and high school, I wrote short stories that nobody ever read – nor would want to. In college, I wrote really bad poetry a la Rod Mckuen. I always intended to write a novel or two but became an expert at finding excuses not to.
I actually began to write seriously when my late husband Jack shamed me into it. I had recently acquired my first computer, thus had word processing ability. I couldn’t use that as an excuse anymore.
Jack and I were in Nantucket, having cocktails on the patio of the Brotherhood of Thieves. He told me in no uncertain terms that it was time for me to stop talking and start writing.
I couldn’t argue. He was right.
We talked about what to write. I decided to do mysteries. I’d always enjoyed reading them. It sounded like fun.
We had another drink and discussed various ways to commit murder.
Thus, Amy Lynch was born.
